


A Wolf for a Queen

by blake_is_strange



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Beta!Sam, Breeding, Comfort, Courting Rituals, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Knotting, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, Making Love, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Queen Sansa, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slow Burn, Smut, Some angst, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, alpha!arya, alpha!yara, beta!bran, beta!gendry, beta!tyrion, mentions of rape/non-con, mild PTSD, omega!brienne, omega!gilly, omega!sansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake_is_strange/pseuds/blake_is_strange
Summary: Sansa Stark is Queen of all of Westeros after Daenerys' death and Jon's disappearance and now she's looking for a mate to help continue her line and rule beside her. Yara is the Queen of Salt and Stone in the Iron Islands.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So, with all the stuff going on the last season of Game of Thrones, I've decided to live out my own little ideas and give them to you guys too! I know that Yara/Sansa isn't a super popular ship since they haven't actually met, but I feel like they would get along really well. Let me know if I'm off on any of the canon facts I put in because as much as I love the show, I've never read the books so some of this stuff might not be totally right. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter One

Yara’s POV

The biting cold of the north is more like the air on the sea than I would have imagined. My horse seems to dislike it, though, if him scuffing his hoof against the ground and antsy fidgeting is any clue. Despite the end of the war, winter still reigns over our heads, covering the sky in heavy grey clouds that threaten to burst forth and cover everything in another coat of glimmering white snow. Winterfell stands in stark contrast against the snowy hills and valleys that surround it, like a dark stone that juts from the side of a snow-covered mountain. Despite my dislike for such places that lay so far inland, I can’t help the twinge of warmth that touches me at the sight of it. Out of all the places in the world, this is the place Theon loved most. Winterfell was more his home than the Iron Islands had ever been. 

 

I swallow down the grief that threatens to break my focus at the memory of my brother, but it bubbles deep in my gut like tar. 

 

It wasn’t my idea to come to Winterfell, not at first. With Sansa as Queen in the North, Westeros was at peace again. After Jon Snow murdered Queen Daenerys, he simply disappeared. It was like the man was made of smoke and had never been there at all, a figment of all the combined imaginations that had fought and died beside him. That left the last Stark son, Bran, I think. But he had refused, stating that it was never his place to rule. Finally, Sansa Stark took the throne. Or, was thrust upon it, I suppose. Her favor among the courts outmatched any other noble, including the new Lord Baratheon who was supposedly the bastard son of Robert Baratheon himself. I wish I could say I was surprised, and - to a certain degree -  I was. But Sansa Stark was a woman to be reckoned with. There were few omegas who could be lords and ladies, let alone Queens. Well, Cersei had been an omega, but she hadn’t been lifted into power by her followers. In a strange, very convenient sort of way, it had fallen into her lap after the death of her husband and sons. 

 

But now, as I approach Winterfell with a small group of my men and closest advisors, I wonder how much of what has happened is the will of the gods and how much is luck that laid at Sansa’s right hand like a wolf. She was not a particularly lucky woman. Not if the stories about her past are to be believed. The death of her father had sent the whole world into shambles, it seems. But now she is looking for a mate. Someone to help carry out her line. 

 

I repress a shudder at the thought. It was definitely far from my idea to come to this place for that reason. I’m not necessarily the power grabbing type, but my advisers had reminded me of the greatness I had promised my people and how my reluctance to invade the mainland was making it difficult to achieve my promise. So, the only real solution to such a problem, was to travel to the new capital of Westeros and flounce around like a good alpha so that the queen would pick me to rule beside her and help her continue her line. 

 

The idea doesn’t exactly thrill me, but as the gates of Winterfell open, I have no choice but to keep moving forward. The walls of the large keep are being rebuilt after the battle against the Nightking, many men and women alike work tirelessly to enforce the once great towers that guard the new capital. It’s not as grandiose as King’s Landing, but I suppose that’s for the best. King’s Landing is a mere ruin, for now, burnt to dust after Daenerys’ brutal attack. 

 

The hustle and bustle of such a cold, unforgiving place is a strange contrast, not unlike the juxtaposition of the Iron Islands. Such a dark and cloudy place is filled with life that few newcomers expect. Not to mention that I receive the same look from these mainlanders that outsiders receive from my own people. It’s oddly familiar despite the newness of it. My last visit was less than friendly, so the cold glares are a nice change of pace from almost being mauled by hounds. 

 

We arrived at the stables and a young boy holds out his hand to take the reins of my horse. I nod and hand them over, dismounting my steed before patting his shivering neck. I’m glad for my thick winter clothes now as I watch a man who’s left his tunic aside as he carves at a large piece of stone, focused intently on his work as his skin glistens with sweat. 

 

“Lady Greyjoy,” a man’s voice calls politely to me, drawing my attention a little lower than I’m accustomed to. Tyrion Lannister stands before me in all his glory and a smirk tugs at my lips. Despite our differences, I had grown a fondness for the tiny, sarcastic man that stands before me. 

 

“The hand of the Queen,” I say dryly, letting a small grin come to my lips as I give him a small bow. “Are you going to keep this one, old friend?” Tyrion scoffs, but there’s a flash of grief behind the dry smile he gives me. 

 

“I hope so, your grace,” he replies, bowing back at me before motioning towards the large doors that lead to the main hall. “This way. Our Queen waits anxiously for your arrival.”

 

“For some reason, I doubt that,” I tell him as we walk through the doors. “Are there any other suitors?” 

 

“A few, but with most of the lords and ladies of our neighboring houses long dead, it’s difficult to find a well-suited candidate,” he explains, but his voice is quickly silenced as we enter what is now the throne room of the country’s capital. I can’t help the way my eyes wander, taking in the dark stone as white winter light flows in through the windows and golden beams glimmer from the hearth behind the throne. Then the throne enters my mind, but not for the fact that it isn’t the Iron Throne, instead because of the woman who sits there. 

 

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and South, sits tall on a throne made of crudely cut stone with silver to line its edges, making it glitter in the brightly lit room. Her long, dark red hair lays over her left shoulder, left to flow down like a waterfall of liquid fire against her pale skin. I stare into the Queen’s silvery-blue eyes. Something in me changes as I look into those eyes, the eyes of a woman who’s seen life and death in equal parts and has survived it all. There’s a stern look to her as she looks back at me, like she’s examining me as much as I am her, but in a different way. 

 

Even as I realized belatedly that I’ve yet to bow in the presence of another queen, a sinking feeling covers me, weighing down my shoulders as I kneel before the Queen in the North.

 

“You are far more beautiful than I imagined, your Highness,” I say as I keep my eyes downcast for a moment, showing the respect due to such a woman before looking back up into her eyes. “Forgive my staring, it has been quite some time since I have seen a woman as transcendent as your grace.” 

 

“You flatter me,” Sansa replies, though her smile is tight, calculated from years of political practice. I can only imagine what being under Cersei’s eye has done to her. “Stand, you are family here, Lady Greyjoy, Queen of Salt and Rock.” I stand again, bowing my head as she speaks my title. 

 

“I’m honored to be so well thought of, your Grace,” I tell her, glancing at Tyrion who watches on in silence. 

 

“Lady Greyjoy has come as one of your suitors, my Queen,” he tells Sansa, who nods in acknowledgment. 

 

“I imagined as much. It’s rare that your folk visit the mainland these days,” she says, standing and taking a few steps towards me. The ten or so feet between us shrinks to a mere three as she continues. “Your people have yet to invade the mainland since you have taken the throne. I admire your ability to change such a hardy people and show them peace.” 

 

“It was not easy, your Highness. The men and women of my home are warriors by blood and conquerors by trade,” I tell her, letting my gaze lock with hers as she steps closer. “That’s partially why I’m here. A marriage between us would secure peace for many years between our people.” 

 

“A peace without bloodshed,” she says in a cool, measured tone, her hands folded before her as she looks me over. “I believe that’s something we can all appreciate after recent events.” 

 

“Yes, your Majesty,” I say in a quieter voice than I intended, feeling a strange tug in my chest. I know now why my brother loved Sansa Stark. The fire in her ice colored eyes is like none other than I have seen. I’ve fought warriors from lands some have never heard of, all with the fire of death and determination in their eyes. But this woman, the Wolf that now sits upon the throne, her eyes carry the fire of the sun itself. Warm and difficult to look into without blinding yourself. 

 

The pause seems to drag on between us until I drop my eyes, wondering if maybe I’ve stayed silent too long. But I’m not the one who speaks. 

 

“Your brother was one of the bravest men I knew,” Sansa says, making me flick my eyes back up to hers. There’s a sadness in them that is all too familiar to the one I feel when I remember Theon. “Thank you for letting him return to us when we needed him most. My brother would be dead if he hadn’t been there when the Night King arrived.” 

 

“He loved you and your family more than his own flesh, your Grace,” I say without thinking. The flash of hurt in the Queen’s eyes makes me look away again. “Forgive me. His death is… The wound is still fresh. He was one of my closest friends.”

 

“He was one of mine as well,” she says, reaching out and covering my right hand which rests over the hilt my sword. The warmth of her skin causes my entire body to hum in a way that I’m not accustomed to and I watch her hand carefully, wondering what sort of things those hands could do. I push the thoughts down, knowing that if I think too much on the subject my scent will become too strong. I have a feeling that - in the presence of the queen at least - it would be unwise to project my more primal desires. 

 

“I’m glad that he served your family as well as you served him,” I say in a low voice, feeling as though the red-haired omega and I were the only two people in the world. 

 

That is, until I hear the doors open behind us and look to see who’s come to interrupt. But my disappointment is replaced by what I can only describe as awestruck. 

 

Arya Stark, Savior of the Light walks in with all the confidence of a wolf within its own forests. I bow at the waist, staying stock still as the younger woman comes closer, nodding to her sister. She looks to me, standing diagonally to my left only an arm’s length from me. 

“Skip the formalities, Greyjoy,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder as I look up at her and stand up again, slow and a bit unsure. “We’re practically family.”

 

“As your sister has so kindly stated, my lady,” Tyrion chimes in dryly, making a bit of embarrassment fill me. 

 

“Forgive me, it’s been some time since I’ve been in the presence of a hero and a queen at the same time,” I reply, hoping to recover myself a bit. 

 

“You speak as though my brother was not a hero and Daenerys not a queen,” Arya says with a quiet grin, letting her hand fall from my shoulder. 

 

“You destroyed the threat that hoped to destroy all of humanity, my lady. Though Jon Stark was a hero in his own rite, you are far more than that. To all of us, I’m sure,” I say, glancing to Tyrion for confirmation. He nods, smiling a bit. Arya shakes her head, her grin growing. 

 

“Shut up and help me find a pitcher of wine, Ironborn,” she says in a way that might’ve convinced me that we had known each other since we were children. I nod, looking to the Queen again before gently taking her hand in mine. 

 

“It has been a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty,” I say as I bow at the waist, kissing her porcelain knuckles. 

 

“You’ll join us, won’t you, Sansa?” Arya asks as I look up at the Queen and stand again. I swear I see a flash of affection in Sansa’s eyes as she looks back at me before her carefully calculated mask is back again. She looks to Arya and I let her hand fall from mine, wondering faintly if the taller Stark girl drank often with her younger sister. 

 

“Perhaps another time,” she says as though there’s no convincing her otherwise. “I have some plans to go over for the new watchtowers. The stonemason needs my approval by noon today.”

 

“Fine, but come find us after. It won’t do you much good to have a bunch of alphas around if you don’t get to know them,” Arya says and I swear I see a blush crawl along Sansa’s cheeks. “Come on, Greyjoy. I want to share war stories.” I can’t help raising my eyebrows at that and sending another questioning glance to Tyrion, but all I get back is a shrug. “You too, Tyrion. You fought at Blackwater, after all. I’m sure you have one or two good stories.” 

 

The short man sighs and follows Arya as she walks to the back of the throne room to a door that leads into the rest of the fortress. I linger for a moment, letting myself smile a bit as I look to Sansa again and nodding to her before following Arya into a long hallway. 

 

All I have to do now is learn to eat, sleep and drink with wolves.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa doesn't want to have to pick anyone at all, but Yara is convincing in her plea for peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop writing, guys, I'm scared, my fingers are gonna fall off! But no, seriously, enjoy!

I can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes me as I sit at the long table at the head of the throne room, watching as my people eat, drink and be merry. The sounds and scents of it all are strangely bitter tonight as the full moon floats brightly through the cloud scattered sky. There are more alphas in Winterfell than usual tonight because of my supposed need for a mate. It’s sickening, really. After Ramsay, I told myself that I would never be with anyone again, alpha or otherwise. 

 

And then Theon came home. 

 

I had never thought of him as anything more than a childhood friend at best and annoyance at worse. He was a bastard, like Jon. But as I grew older and life took its toll on us all, I realized that whose blood runs through your veins matters less and less as time passes. The only people who truly care about such things are petulant children and people like Cersei and Daenerys. Both women who ruined and ended the lives of innocent people in their pursuit of power. 

 

But now, Theon is gone, burned to ash with all the men and women we lost to the Night King and his army. I didn’t think that I could survive the loss of so many loved ones, not all at once. I can still remember the relief that filled me when Arya returned from King’s Landing, alive but brutally injured in mind and body, like a dog limping home after a bad hunt. 

 

She’s different now, but not by much. It’s mostly the way she talks to people. The heavy glares and suspicious watchfulness has faded slightly, but only slightly. Whatever happened to her in King’s Landing, she won’t speak of it, but I know it changed her just as much as anything else that ever happened to her since the day our father died. 

 

The memory flashes behind my eyes, but I push it aside, coming back to the loud chattering of my crowded throne room. 

 

My throne room. It’s still such a foreign thought. I remember wishing to be Queen since I was a girl, daydreaming about marrying a handsome alpha with fiery eyes and a warrior’s loyalty, sitting beside him in King’s Landing and bearing his pups so that our blood would rule justly over the people of Westeros for generations. 

 

But such ideas are exactly as I said; the dreams of a child. The girl I was when I went south is long gone now, the woman I’ve become is much stronger, more guarded. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t like the changes I saw in myself, even the ones that made me seem cold. Those were the things that made me stronger. No more would I allow a man to push me into situations that I didn’t want to be in. No longer would I stand idly by while people suffered and died in the name of a Queen who cared nothing for their lives. 

 

I’m going to be the Queen that brings peace to Westeros. At least that’s what I tell myself as I watch my people laugh and drink and cheer. Arya and Tyrion are sitting with Yara and Gendry, the four of them laughing and talking about anything and everything and I’m sure it’s mostly about times of war and bloodshed. Because that’s what people like Yara and my sister do best. They kill to bring justice. I sit back in my throne, setting my wine on the long, thick wooden table but keeping my grip on the metal goblet. 

 

I can’t help watching Yara as she speaks, probably telling another war story of how she destroyed a whole fleet of ships with just her one longship. As much as the idea sickens me, the thought of such a strong, witty alpha woman stirs something in me. Something I haven’t felt since Margaery. Not since Theon. 

 

Brienne must sense my swirling, confusing thoughts because she leans over in her wooden chair that sits beside my throne, following my eyes. 

 

“What troubles you, your Highness?” She asks me quietly, barely loud enough for me to hear. I appreciate her ability to be discreet and I smile despite the mixed emotions I feel boiling deep in my gut. I think for a moment, my gaze shifting to Lord Baratheon, the young beta man staring starry-eyed at my younger sister. Poor boy.

 

“He’s quite infatuated, don’t you think?” I ask my old friend and she looks to Gendry sympathetically.

 

“I believe we’ve all once been in love with someone who can never love us back, my lady,” she says softly, a hint of sorrow in her own voice. I look to her, letting my hand rest on her shoulder as she looks into my eyes. After Jaime Lannister left for the Red Keep, Brienne spoke much less and frowned much more. His abandonment and death had taken its toll on her and my heart aches for her. The blond woman had fallen quickly for a man that didn’t deserve her, but such things were never to be said allowed. At least not until his death faded to memory and away from present grief. 

 

“I believe as much myself,” I tell her, seeing a sad smile play across her lips. I let my hand fall away and look back to my sister. She has never been one for romance. Well, not when we were children, anyway. We spend more time together now than we ever have in our lives. The years we spent apart were the hardest of our lives and we only saw each other again when things were beginning to look bleaker than ever before. 

 

But now, in the candlelit room where my people ate together in times of victory, defeat, and prosperity, Arya looked happier than I had ever seen her. After everything she had gone through on her own, with the support of few and the love of fewer, she is the woman that I always knew she could be. Strong, defiant and dangerous. 

 

“What of the Greyjoy?” Brienne asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I pause and look back to Yara. She has her brother’s eyes, mischief and laughter behind them as she speaks, lifting her tankard in the air before slamming it back on the table again, causing those around her to let our roars of laughter. Her shoulder-length brown hair is tied back now, a more relaxed sort of groomed than when she arrived after days on horseback and sailing. 

“What of her?” I ask the tall woman beside me. She laughs beside me, making me shook her a glance of amused confusion. 

 

“You know very well what,” she says, smiling at me like a cat chasing a mouse. “She’s a Queen, she’s an alpha - and a strong one at that. She’s a military leader, a good ally and a better soldier if her tales are to be believed.”

 

“I believe all war stories are a bit embellished, Ser Brienne,” I say with a laugh of my own, in slight disbelief at my guardian’s words. “Why are you so intent to know my thoughts? It seems as though you have an agenda of your own.”

 

“Agenda? Never, my lady,” she replied, looking mock offended as she grabs her own goblet and drinks deeply before setting it back down. “I ask because you are my Queen and your hall is filled to the brim with alphas who would very well slit each other’s throats the marry you. I want to know which ones to look out for and which ones to look after.” I hesitate, looking back to the Greyjoy woman as she listens intently to Arya speak. Something in me aches and I wonder if she’ll ever look at me like that. Wide-eyed and hanging off my every word. 

 

Like the way she looked at me when she saw me sitting on the throne. Or when I touched her hand and spoke of Theon. 

 

“She is a good woman,” I tell Brienne, but my words seem to carry more weight than I meant them to, because my old friend grins and holds her goblet out towards me. 

 

“To looking after her, then,” she says as she gives me a secretive smile. I can’t help rolling my eyes, but I lift my own goblet anyway and let it touch her own for a moment. 

 

“You should look after yourself, ser knight, you haven’t been sleeping well,” I say before taking a sip of my wine. It’s sweeter than most wine I’ve had, but it makes my belly feel warm. I actually enjoy it more than I thought I could ever enjoy wine of any kind. 

 

“None of us have, your Grace,” she replies, sipping her own wine before grabbing a hunk of bread off her plate and tearing off a small piece to eat. “Nights aren’t for sleeping now. Not after all we’ve seen.” I nod at that, but my heart aches at the knowledge of it. Most of my own nights are full of tossing and turning and nightmares of dead men reaching for me from the crypts beneath Winterfell. I shudder at the thought, wrapping my arms around myself for a moment. 

 

Even though the threat is gone, the fear remains. 

 

“Excuse me, your Grace,” a voice says gently, making me sit up straight again and look up into the eyes of Yara Greyjoy, the fear within me subsiding a little. I feel a bit silly for a moment at knowing that the simple presence of this alpha makes me feel… Safe. 

 

“Good evening, Lady Greyjoy,” I say, lifting my goblet to her. She smiles in that slight sort of way, holding out her tankard and gently tapping it against my glass of wine. “Are you enjoying my sister’s stories?”

 

“Immensely,” she replies, excitement evident in her voice as her smile broadens, but she seems to realize herself and take a small breath, bowing a bit. “If I may be so bold, I would very much enjoy a walk with your highness on this fine night.” I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. 

 

“You won’t be calling it fine if you intend to step foot in freshly fallen snow, my lady,” I tell her a bit teasingly, but she only smirks and nods. 

 

“Cold nights in the north and cold nights on the sea are not so different, your Majesty,” she replies, setting down her tankard and holding out her hand to me, glancing at Brienne over my shoulder, as though to ask for permission. 

 

“You may accompany us, Ser Brienne. I’ve heard only tales of you, but would very much enjoy to speak with you,” Yara adds, making me look over to the taller woman. She looks to me then Yara and smiles, nodding. 

 

“I believe that you and her Majesty should get to know each other better, but I will tag along to keep my vow to her mother,” Brienne replies, making me wish I could roll my eyes. Though I’m glad for her protection, her formal tone often strokes me in an odd way. I’ve asked her often enough to simply call me Sansa, even in public, but she often refuses. It’s endearing in a mildly annoying way. 

 

“Very well,” the Greyjoy says, looking back to me. I am caught off guard for a moment, her dark eyes stealing my breath for a short time. Or maybe it’s the salty tinge to her scent, the feeling of the sea filling my lungs as I stare up at her, barely able to keep my mouth closed. A deep, primal part of me wants to let my mouth sag open and breathe deeply, taking in all of her strangely comforting scent. I can’t help comparing it to Theon, though he smelled nothing like the sea. “We can come back inside if you get too cold.” 

 

“I’m a Stark,” I remind her, taking her hand and getting to my feet. She’s only an inch or two taller than me, but the strength of her body is obvious, even beneath her armor. “We don’t typically get cold.”

 

“I thought as much,” Yara replies, gently taking my arm around her own so my palm rests on her forearm. I swallow down the small thrill that passes through, criticizing my own childish behavior. The alpha leads me out into the cool night air, Brienne but a few feet behind us as we walk through the empty courtyard. Most of my people will be asleep by now, resting so that our work might continue in the morning. 

 

We walk through the snow in silence for a moment, the sound of crunching snow beneath our feet calming me somewhat. It’s a familiar sound, like my mother’s voice or the cold winds in the night that whisper through leafless trees. 

 

“Be honest,” Yara says, pulling me from my thoughts as I look up at her. We’re walking through the arch that leads to the godswood, it’s brilliant leaves flutter against the breeze. “Do you think you’ll pick one of the people here to rule beside you? Truly?” I feel my brows knit together in confusion for a moment before she continues. “Because I don’t see anyone in that hall that’s as well suited for the job as myself.” 

 

Normally, such arrogant words would send a fire through my veins, but there’s a playfulness to Yara’s voice that calms my concerns as she smirks a bit. For some reason, her question scares me less than it should. I hesitate, my mind wandering a bit at her suggestion. Ruling with Yara Greyjoy at my side, her strong leadership and caring heart beating with my own for the people we protect. Her voice being the first thing I hear each morning as I wake, the gentle rasp of sleep filling it as she kisses me awake, her soft lips pressed to my temple as we walk through the courtyard in the night as we are now, sharing a bed with her. Sharing my body with her. 

 

The last thought strikes some fear into me, though as I push down memories. Horribly vivid memories. 

 

I look away from her, worrying my bottom lip a bit. 

 

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly as she looks down at me, a sort of concern in her own eyes. 

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you, your Highness,” she says in a soft, gentle tone that reminds me of the breeze. “I know that this all must be a lot for you to process. You’ve… You’ve been through so much.”

 

“We all have,” I correct her a bit firmly, my eyes locked on the site bark of the godswood tree. “You’ve lost just as many friends as I have and you’re a Queen too now.” 

 

“Yes, but my small island of people is far less than your entire continent,” she replies, making me pause again. She heaves a sigh beside me and I look up at her to see the conflict on her face. “I… I know how deeply my brother cared for you. I see why. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever seen and the kindest despite everything.” She looks down at me, honesty written plainly on her face as she speaks. “I know that an alliance between our people would be more beneficial to all of us than if you married any other person in that hall. I know what it’s like to rule over a people that underestimate you, over a land that has seen nothing but despair. Choose me and I will lead faithfully at your right hand until my dying breath. I will be your support in everything you do, no matter the cost. Because you are a Queen worth following, Sansa Stark.”

 

The sound of my name on her lips gives me pause and I have to hold back a gasp of surprise, her words threatening to bring tears to my eyes. Her shimmering brown eyes watch me, taking me in as I look back up at her. It’s not a confession of love and I know it. But something about it, something about her, makes me feel as though I’m being swept down a river that I can’t escape from and if I say yes I might drown. But for some reason that I can’t explain, I trust her. It’s dangerous and I know it is, I can feel my own walls chipping and breaking as she looks at me with that fire in her eyes, like she’s the sea itself and I am helpless to her waves. 

 

“Yes,” I say without thinking, clutching at her arm as the cold slowly leaves my limbs and my fear builds in my chest. But I can’t say no. Not to her. And I have no idea why.

 

If only I knew how to swim, maybe I could fight against the Queen of the Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I have a tumblr @blake-is-strange97 if you have prompts you wanna see or ships or whateva. Thank you again and have an awesome day!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara and Sansa officially agree to marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyyyyyyyyy more things! Enjoy!

Yara’s POV

 

The air in the library is tense to say the least. Last night, I basically proposed to the queen under the banner of peace between our peoples and the stability of Westeros. Now, gathered around the war table where Daenerys, Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Tyrion Lannister, and even Sansa herself planned their attack on King’s Landing. A map of the entirety of Westeros lays over it, but there are no military pieces there to show where the Queen’s forces may be. I suspect that, in a less than comforting way, Sansa Stark isn’t fighting any rebellious factions or houses. Though I suspect she will be soon, if the mainland’s past speaks anything of its future.

 

Sansa, Tyrion, and Bran are all gathered around the table, looking at me as I stand on the end farthest from the hearth. Bran sits beside his sister, his eyes glued to me as though he’s staring into my very soul. It’s an unnerving sort of feeling. Even the Maester, Samwell Tarly, stands beside Tyrion on a different side of the table from me, as though each and every one of them is examining me for flaws. 

 

“The alliance is a solid one,” Tyrion says to Sansa as she looks down at the map of her kingdom, seemingly deep within her own thoughts. 

 

“Better than the one we would build if you chose Lord Baratheon,” Maester Tarly chimes in, almost speaking as though I’m not standing in the room with them. “His bloodline is slightly tarnished at the moment. Not to mention that a marriage between yourself and Robert Baratheon’s son could cause some disquiet among the other houses.”

 

“He speaks true, your Highness. The other houses may believe that your family and his have been planning this since the beginning,” Tyrion adds, making Sansa look up with a bit of surprise. 

 

“You think they’d believe such a thing?” She asks her Hand, receiving a nod in return. 

 

“It’s not unheard of, my Queen,” Tyrion replies. Sansa sighs, her gaze meeting mine from across the table. Something in my chest tightens, a moment of fondness before fear takes a grip on my heart. I acted on impulse last night. Ideally, I would be on a ship back home by now, but instead, I’m staring eye-to-eye with the Queen of Westeros to arrange the details of our marriage. I’m not sure what possessed me when I had asked Sansa Stark to marry me, especially since we hardly knew each other. But there’s no turning back now. And, to be quite honest, I’m not sure if I would turn back if I could. 

 

“What do you want out of this, Lady Greyjoy?” The omega asks me, looking me over as everyone’s eyes turn back to me. “What sort of plans do you have for Westeros and the Iron Islands if we marry?” I pause, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking. 

 

“I want peace between our houses, your Majesty,” I tell her honestly, keeping my gaze locked with hers. “When I took the throne, I promised my people a better future that didn’t come from bloodshed. In order for that future to happen, I need the Queen of the mainland on my side.”

 

“But there are easier ways to do so,” Arya says from beside her sister, taking me by surprise. “So why do you want to marry my sister if you could get the peace you seek some other way? Surely you must have other motives.” 

 

Other motives. The words cause a bit of fire in my belly, but I push it down. Now is not the time to let my tongue run away with me. Not when my people’s future is at stake. 

 

“Forgive me for not believing the usual methods of negotiation would be as fruitful, my lady,” I reply, looking at Arya as she locks her gaze with mine. I can already feel the war of wills between us growing, as it has between Sansa and I. I have a feeling that this will not be easy. Far from it, I’m afraid. “But the mainland has not long been kind to my people no matter who’s in power. I prefer a more personal, better-supported deal than my father would have received.”

 

“Cut to the chase, Greyjoy,” Arya says in a strangely aggressive tone, making me stifle a growl. The younger alpha is strong, more so than I could ever imagine becoming. Or maybe just in different ways. “What do you want?” 

 

“I want to rule beside your sister and ensure peace for the coming generations,” I tell her without thinking much of my tone. The room falls silent for a moment and I straighten myself, standing to my fullest height. “I want to be your equal, your Grace,” I say to Sansa, looking back into those icy-blue eyes. “No more, no less. I want my people to be citizens as much of Westeros as they are the Iron Islands. No more separation, no one who’s blood is better than mine. Isn’t that what you all fought for? A world where children could grow in the security of knowing that fire wouldn’t rain down on their heads as soon as the closest lord didn’t get his knot emptied? Didn’t my brother die for the future of peace that we could bring?” 

I can see a flash of something behind Sansa’s well-built walls of indifference, her face hardening slightly at my words. The silence drags on for what feels like years as I stare into the red-haired woman’s eyes, witnessing her inner struggle as though I were watching a pack of wolves fight for their last meal. 

 

“Your intentions are pure,” Bran says to me, making me tear my gaze from Sansa’s, his own eyes unsettling me again. There’s something there that’s beyond the knowledge of a man, something that speaks of forgotten stories. “I believe you are the best choice. But it’s not my choice. Sansa is your Queen. Can you truly expect to be her equal?”

 

“I’m no better than Lady Greyjoy or any other man, woman or child in Westeros, Bran,” Sansa interrupts, giving the beta Stark a warning glare before looking to me again. “You want fairness and equality from me that no other ruler of the mainland has shown your people. Because you’ve earned it. By ceasing your peoples’ raids of Westeros, you have gained my trust.”

 

There’s another pause as Sansa regards me with determination in her eyes, like her thoughts and emotions are waging war within her own soul. 

 

“A marriage to you would honor our people,” she finally says, causing the very space around me to sigh in relief, but my heart skips before thrumming hard against my ribs. “Tyrion, Bran, begin making the arrangements.”

 

“It will have to be a bit of a spectacle, your Majesty,” Tyrion reminds the Queen in the gentlest tone he can. He’s learned to curb his tongue since working for Daenerys, if his sudden smallness of personality is any hint. 

 

“I’m well aware,” the Queen replies, cool and neutral as ever as she looks to me again. “Is that a problem for you, Lady Greyjoy?” I shake my head, bowing at the waist. 

 

“No, my Queen, no problem at all,” I say evenly, hoping to put my bride to be at ease with a gentle smile. “My will is under your sway.” The small hitch of breath I see from the pale-skinned woman before me causes a hint of pride to spread through me, but I hide it as best I can. 

 

“I will begin preparations immediately,” Tyrion says, motioning to Bran. He nods and Maester Tarly pushes the crippled man behind Tyrion, leaving me alone with the Stark women. 

 

“I will send word to my people,” I say before bowing again and starting to walk out, but I’m stopped by Sansa’s voice. 

 

“Wait, Lady Greyjoy. I wish to speak with you. Alone.” 

 

I turn and see Sansa nod to her sister, but the younger Stark hesitates for a moment, glancing between her sister and myself. But she walks off after a moment, letting a door close heavily behind her, but not before giving me a glare of warning. I face the Queen, standing still where I was stopped as she steps around the table, her hands folded behind her back. 

 

“I’ve heard many rumors about your… exploits,” she says in a slightly accusatory tone, looking me over as though I were going to step forward. But I stay where I am, not wanting to step into the omega’s space. If what I’ve heard about the Bolton bastard is true, Sansa Stark is not an omega to be touched without explicit permission from her own lips. 

 

“Exploits, your Grace?” I ask, feigning innocence. I want to be sure I know what she’s referring to before confirming anything. I don’t want to come across as some kind of sexual deviant. Not that I haven’t shared my fair amount of beds, but there were never any unwilling participants. 

 

“Your brother told me that you have a preference for female omegas,” she says, suddenly looking a bit shy. I can’t help the bit of guilt that pokes at my heart, alpha concern beginning to fill my chest. 

 

“Your Highness, there is no need to discuss such things,” I tell her, but when she looks into my eyes, the determination there cuts me off. 

 

“I’m sure you know what happened to the last person who laid with me,” she says, stepping closer. I can’t help the way my body wants to step back, like the fear in my gut is because of Sansa herself and not because of my own instinctual thoughts that fill my head when I look at her. No one deserves to be hurt the way this woman was hurt. 

 

“Ramsay was dog shit walking around in a man’s body, your Grace,” I reply, keeping my eyes locked with hers. “His death was a relief to me and my brother. I’m sure it was for you as well.” 

 

“Relief is too soft a word for such things,” she says quietly, looking away from me then. She’s barely an arm’s length away from me now, her black gown and wolf pelt cape contrasting beautifully with her pale skin and dark red hair. My heart throbs at the sight of her, like I’m a lovesick pup pining after the prettiest girl in my village. 

 

“I agree. But it is better than some of the words we could use,” I tell her, my voice gentle and soft, softer than my own ears have ever heard it. “I’m sure most of what you’ve heard about me is true. The notches on my bedpost could rival many other alphas. But I assure you that my faithfulness is something I pride myself on.”

 

“Then why so many notches, Queen of Salt and Stone?” The question is a challenge that makes me want to become defensive, but I push the urge away. It’s not a necessary feeling or response to the challenges of the woman I’m going to marry. 

 

“Because the sea took me from the ports of many of my lovers before I was ready,” I say honestly, looking into those beautiful silver eyes again. “The ache of loss was too great to suffer alone. I’ve let a pretty face overcome my heart too many times.”

 

“Should I expect your heart to be overcome while we are married?” She asks and I don’t miss the glimmer of hope in her eyes. Hope for what, I’m not sure. But I pray to the Drowned God himself that it’s hope that I will fall for her. 

 

“Only if you expect me to be overcome by you, my Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, have and awesome day!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa realizes some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry I skipped a day, I know I was posting a lot but it was my birthday so I took a tiny break. Thank you guys, hope you enjoy!

Sansa’s POV

 

_ Only if you expect me to be overcome by you, my Queen. _

 

The memory of those words, of the scent that filled my lungs as Yara spoke them, it’s all too much. Yet, I can’t stop replaying the memory again and again as I lay in bed nearly a week later, wrapped tightly under thick furs and silken sheets. I shift uncomfortably in my own bed, which is rather large now compared to the bed I had when the war first ended. 

 

Tyrion had all the finest things imported from Essos for my room, but I refused to let the rest of the eastern style flow to the rest of the keep. It was beautiful, but expensive and ultimately unnecessary. I suppose the large expanse of goose down mattress would be good after the wedding since Yara would most likely be sharing my bed, but that thought was somehow less comforting than it was supposed to be. 

 

Something about the way the Greyjoy woman had spoken to me makes me feel unsteady around her now. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve even been avoiding her the past few days, too overcome by my own anxieties to let myself anywhere near her. Looking at her and imagining what our marriage will be like feels almost like a betrayal to my younger self, to the girl I was when Ramsay was still alive. 

 

I shudder and draw the furs more tightly around my body, trying to shut out the memories of him as best I can. But some slip through. Some always do. And they don’t make me feel any better about getting married in three days. 

 

In three days, I’m going to marry Yara Greyjoy and part of me wonders why the thought doesn’t sicken me the way it should. Not long ago, the idea of sharing a bed with anyone, let alone an alpha who was a virtual stranger, would have chilled me to my core. And yet, the idea of being near Yara was less terrifying than I imagined it would be. 

Her gentle kindness that she hides beneath sharply spoken words and witty comments draw me in more than I’d like to admit. Maybe it’s because she’s Theon’s brother. He stopped scaring me shortly before the Night King attacked and, if he had survived, I would have chosen him to marry instead of all of this ceremonial song and dance. 

 

But Yara is right. This is the best way to have a solid alliance between our kingdoms and to give the Ironborn a decent future, whether it’s here in Westeros or in the Iron Islands. The fire in Yara’s eyes when she’d spoken of future generations was what had swayed me, if I’m honest. She’s right. The people that I rule and those that will come after them are the reason why I helped Jon fight. I had hoped that, despite her blood, Daenerys would fight for that same thing. But when it came down to it, she had destroyed millions of lives in a single, fiery day. She’d nearly killed my sister and Jon and had burned one of the most beautiful cities in Westeros to ash. 

 

What I hadn’t expected was Jon’s reaction to her attack. No one had thought that he would kill her, but - according to Bran - it was all part of some bigger prophecy. But now Jon is back in the far North, never to be seen again. Beyond the wall, forever. 

 

I sigh, putting my hands over my eyes and sending a quiet prayer to the gods to just let me sleep already. But sleep doesn’t come. Not restful sleep, at least. 

 

Even my dreams are plagued with worry. Worry for the future, for the marriage I’m about to become a part of, for the wellbeing of my people, for the things I’ll have to do to continue the Stark bloodline. 

 

As I wake and get dressed with the help of my lady-in-waiting, I wonder how fair it is that I’m the one somehow made responsible for carrying on my bloodline. 

 

And then, as I walk to the great hall and eat my breakfast, I remember how Arya had come to me after Gendry had proposed to her, laughing at the very mention of marriage like it was a bad joke. Not to mention Bran. He’s a breathing history book now with some unexplainable magical powers that make no sense to me and, honestly, I’d be too scared to ask him how it all truly works. I have too much on my plate to worry about the supernatural world again. The Night King and his army are enough of a stress to keep me busy for a lifetime and they’re not even a threat now. Thanks to Arya, who I suppose earned the right to not have to marry someone she doesn’t truly love. Even as a child, she was never the type to think about such things and I don’t blame her. Such fantasies got me into enough trouble to know better now. 

 

A happy marriage, like the one I thought my parents had, just doesn’t exist. My mother died believing that my father had lain with another woman in some far off land and came back with Jon as his bastard. 

 

I wonder if she knows now, where ever her soul wanders. 

 

“My Queen, the cook has come to speak with you about what you’d like at the wedding feast,” Brienne says gently, waking me from my thoughts as I sit on the throne. I nod to her and put on my best polite smile. The cook, Martin Gale, is a good man and a better cook. He walks in wearing his best ceremonial tunic and trousers, though they’re old and a bit torn in some places. I feel a twinge within my chest, my sense of justice suddenly awakened. No one who works within my walls should feel as self-conscious about their appearance as Martin looks. 

 

“Your Majesty, please excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, but I smile at him and nod as he bows. 

 

“No excuse needed, good ser. I’m yours to speak freely with, as always,” I reply, motioning for him to come closer. He’s a good man with a wife and pups of his own to care for. His oldest is a fiery girl with dark hair like her mother and her father’s soft looking face. He’s a bit older now than he was when we first met in King’s Landing, but he never lost his fire. 

 

“Well, my Queen, I was considering doing lamb for the feast, I know how much you enjoy it. However, it seems a pack of wolves has recently moved onto the land of our nearest sheep rancher and has been stealing his livestock,” Martin explains, making me look to Tyrion for confirmation.

 

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this, Lord Tyrion?” I ask my Hand. He bows and glances to the cook. 

 

“Forgive me, your Majesty, it is the first I’m hearing of it as well,” he tells me. I nod, hoping to ease the tense set of his shoulders. The poor man is still a bit skittish after Daenerys’ treatment. 

 

“I will send a troop of guards to the rancher’s land this very moment,” I tell Martin and he nods, thanking me profusely. “Elras, send for Ser Asten and tell him to send some of his men and a few hunters to take care of the wolves. And bring the rancher some gold for his trouble.” The guard bows and hurries out of the throne room, doing as I command. I’ll never get used to that, not if I sit on this throne for a hundred years or more. “What is the cheapest and most readily available option, ser Gale?”

 

“Chicken, your Grace, but I insist, I want to make the feast with a variety of courses for your guests and yourself to choose from,” he says hurriedly, making me smile. 

 

“You’re too kind. If it pleases you, I insist that you chose what you believe to be best. Your pallet is far better than my own and I will enjoy whatever you create,” I reply with a smile, relieved when the round-faced man smiles back, seeming to relax. He bows deeply and thanks me more times than I can count before leaving the great hall, hurrying back to his duties. I lean back in my throne, satisfied that the meeting went well. 

 

“Tyrion, have some new robes made for ser Gale and his family. I want every man, woman, and child in my keep to feel that they look their best at my wedding,” I tell the curly haired man who stands at my left side. He bows and smiles a bit. 

 

“As you wish, your Grace,” he says before leaving the room to find a messenger to send to the tailor. I look to Brienne as she stands beside me, staring off at the far windows, seemingly lost in thought. 

 

“Dear Knight, you look so full of sorrow,” I say somewhat playfully, getting my old friend’s attention. She looks down at me and grins a bit, shaking her head. 

 

“Forgive me, I didn’t sleep well,” she replies, standing to her full height again. 

 

“Neither did I,” I admit with a soft sigh, balancing my elbow on the armrest of the throne before pressing my head against my palm. “It’s been years since my last restful night’s sleep.”

 

“You should see someone about that,” Brienne says in a surprisingly motherly sort of way. I look up at her and smile, feeling a sudden wash of affection for the mountain of a woman. 

 

“You sound like my mother,” I tease and she smiles back at me, beaming a bit before shrugging and resting her palm on the hilt of her blade. 

 

“She was a great woman, your Grace. I’m honored to be compared to her.”

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between us for a moment, the only sounds being the crackling of burning wood in the hearth behind me and the activity outside. 

Despite my lack of sleep, I feel the sudden need to be on my feet. So I stand and Brienne stands up straighter. 

 

“Let’s take a walk,” I say with a smile. “I want to feel the sun on my face.” 

 

“I doubt it’s warmer than the indoors, your Majesty,” Brienne says with a teasing lilt to her voice, making me chuckle as I glance at her over my shoulder. 

 

“Suddenly afraid of the cold, are you?” I ask her as we walk out into the snow. It’s settled since falling fresh the night before, but the breeze still carries winter’s bite. 

 

“Afraid? No. I do prefer the comfortable heat of a fire, however. As most southern born people do.” 

 

I can’t help laughing a bit at that as we walk, going up to walk along the walls. They’re mostly rebuilt now, but there is still so much work to be done. The mason, Darrick, wishes to build new guard towers in an effort to let our guards see farther than the ones that were destroyed in the fighting. 

 

As we walk along the freshly built parts of the wall, guards and builders bow and greet me and I greet them all in turn, remembering faintly when my mother would do the same. Her people treated her like she was a Queen all her own because she treated them with the love she had for her own family. 

 

It’s not long before I hear a disturbance, though. The clang of metal on metal brings me to myself as though I were being hit by a ton of bricks. I follow the sound, looking down the training grounds to see Arya and Yara locked in what I can only imagine to be a training bout. The only reason I can tell it’s a match and not a fight is because of the blunted weapons they’re using. Arya’s sword, Needle, is still strapped securely to her hip as she uses a more elementary version of the rapier while Yara wields a rusted training sword. 

 

By the tight-knit of Yara’s brow and the frustrated set of her jaw, I can already tell it’s not going in her favor. I lean forward against the wooden railing, taking in the sight. My younger sister is a formidable fighter, there’s no arguing that. But Yara has been fighting longer, so I would imagine they’re evenly matched. Arya doesn’t seem to be taking it easy on the older alpha, though. Yara is breathing a bit heavily, a thin trail of sweat glistening down the side of her head to her cheek. 

 

I can’t help the way my eyes trace the line of the other woman’s face. Her focused eyes, the high cut of her cheekbones, the sharpness of her jaw that leads down to her broad chin. I try not to get lost in her movements, skilled and practiced, calculated as she goes on the offensive, swinging to land a hit. But Arya is like a shadow, there one second and gone the next. The two are similar in some ways, though Arya seems much more relaxed behind her blade than Yara seems behind her own. 

 

I don’t realize why until I see her glance up at me, throwing me a confident smirk. A thrill shudders through me at the sight despite myself, but I can’t find it in me to look away. The blush that covers my cheeks is humiliating, but I smile and wave like a pup in love with a pretty knight. That seems the wrong thing to do, though, because Arya takes advantage of the distraction, putting her blade to Yara’s throat. The taller alpha freezes in place, laughing as Arya takes her blade away, laughing with her. 

 

The smile that tugs at my lips is contagious it seems, because Brienne is trying - and failing miserably, might I add - not to smile as she watches on with feigned indifference. 

 

“What’s so funny?” I ask my guardian and she finally breaks, smiling as she nods down at the woman I’m going to marry. 

 

“She’s trying to impress you,” Brienne explains as I look back. The two alphas are at it again, exchanging blows that, to my knowledge, are more skilled than anything I could do with a sword. 

 

“She doesn’t need to impress me. We’re getting married in three days,” I say as though the tall blond woman doesn’t already know. 

 

“But she likes you. Truly, can’t you tell?” She asks me in a playful tone, but the question catches me for a moment. As silly as it seems to me as I think on it, I suppose I didn’t notice. Even after what she said to me in the library, I thought that the alpha woman simply saw our marriage as an alliance to help better her people. 

 

But as I watch her fight almost playfully with my sister, I realize that Yara might be interested in more than just an alliance. As terrifying as that thought is, it sends a little shiver through me. Because, as much as I struggle with the idea of my feelings towards the Greyjoy woman, the idea that she truly has feelings for me is… Strangely new territory. Never in my life have I truly believed someone could fall in love with me and the realization is somewhat disturbing. 

 

Because when I look at Yara, I don’t see Joffrey or Ramsay. Nor do I see Margaery or Theon. All I see is Yara, the dark-haired warrior whose eyes are like the darkened bark of a strong oak and whose voice was like the breeze that passed over the sea. 

 

My heart gives a flutter at thinking about how she looks at me, how she stares into my eyes like I’m the only woman in the world. 

 

“Are you alright, your Grace? You look a bit faint,” Brienne says gently, putting a supportive hand on my arm. I shake myself a bit and manage a weak smile, shaking my head. 

 

“I’m alright, just tired, I think,” I reply, though the lie is weaker than my smile. I look back to see Yara looking at me, a smile on her face. She waves and my heart nearly gives out in my chest. I wave back, feeling as though my stomach were alight with fireflies. 

 

I wonder faintly if this is what it feels like to drown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again and have an awesome day!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara makes some mistakes and Bran shows her why she's in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing support of this fic. I know that there a lot of people who prefer not comment and stuff and that's totally fine! I just hope that you all enjoy this chapter and that you continue to do so. I would like to address some things now that the finale has been put out, though. I want to let everyone know that I have no intention of bashing Daenerys throughout this fic. Any comments towards her character in this fic are simply what I believe the characters would think of her (consider Sansa for example). Daenerys was a victim of poor planning by the writers, as were the rest of our beloved characters. Again, thank you all and enjoy!

Yara’s POV

 

“What kind of flowers does your sister like?” I ask Arya as we sit in the great hall, my eyes locked on the beautiful omega sitting on the throne. I’ll have to wait until we’re married to sit at the long table by her side, but maybe that’s for the best right now because she’s been avoiding me like the plague. The wedding rehearsal tonight is the closest I’ll have been to her in more than a week, since the day we agreed we were going to get married. Maybe my words were too strong and I frightened her. But she hasn’t backed out of the wedding and it’s coming upon us rather quickly. 

 

“She likes roses, but you won’t find those here. Not in the winter, anyway,” Arya replies, pulling me from my thoughts as I turn my gaze to her, my shoulders sagging a bit. The younger Stark girl and I have become fast friends as far as I can tell. Our shared love of the skills we’ve obtained over the years has brought us closer than I ever thought I would get to a hero like her. 

“Damn. What should I do? She won’t even look at me,” I say, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice as I fold my arms atop the table and lean forward, my shoulders heavy. 

 

“That means she likes you,” the clever eyed girl tells me matter of factly, but I don’t entirely believe her. 

 

“You can’t be serious,” I say dryly. 

 

“What, you’ve never fallen in love with a woman before?” The man sitting next to me asks, Grenn, I think. He’s one of the blacksmiths. 

 

“Not since I last made port in Essos, no,” I reply, giving him a warning glare. “What of it?”

 

“Nothing, you just act as though her behavior is odd,” he says as he takes another large bite of the mutton on his plate. 

 

“Shut up, Grenn,” the younger Stark says with only a slight firmness. “The Queen and her behavior are none of your concern.”

 

“Says who?” He shoots back, glaring at Arya in a way that I haven’t seen anyone look at her since I arrived. Apparently there are still some that doubt the young alpha’s skill despite her achievements. 

 

“I do,” I chime in, turning to face him and letting a bit of my own alpha dominance radiate off of me. “As your future queen, I suggest you mind your own business.” 

 

“Big talk for a sea drowned whore,” he growls, the stench of his own scent hitting my lungs like glass. A growl starts to vibrate through me at his words, a defensiveness filling me that I haven’t felt in some time. 

 

“This so-called whore is about to beat your teeth in, you snow-covered cunt,” I grind out, getting to my feet and grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He spits at me, the hot spray colliding with my face. 

 

“Do it and see how much the fiery-haired bitch likes you then,” he snarls back. I practically roar at his words, swinging to land a hit on his smug, charcoal spotted face. My fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crunch and he falls to the ground, but the other alpha has some fight in him. He kicks up, knocking me back a bit before I tackle him, growling and spitting as I try to punch him again. 

 

“Enough!” Someone shouts and I feel myself being pulled up and off of the man, fire burning in my veins until I feel like I might melt if I don’t expend the rage somehow. That is, until I look to see Brienne of Tarth is the one who pulled me off of my victim. 

“This is no way to act in the presence of your Queen,” The giantess growls at me before thrusting me towards the long table, letting go of my arm to let me stumble to my knees in front of the now standing Sansa Stark who’s staring at me like I might hit her next. 

 

The fear in her eyes has my rage fading to nothing more than a tiny spark, guilt drowning it down in waves. I bow my head, on my hands and knees before the throne, before the woman I’ve come to care deeply for. 

 

“Forgive me, your Highness,” I say a bit breathlessly, keeping my eyes downcast. I can’t bring myself to look at her. “He insulted me and then spoke ill of you. I lost my composure.”

 

“She beat me, throw her in the dungeons,” the blacksmith demands and a murmur spread through the people gathered in the hall. I wet my dry lips and keep my eyes on my shaking hands as I brace them against the stone floor. 

 

“No one is going to the dungeons tonight,” Sansa says firmly, a scent like snow and pine filling my lungs. I look up, seeing the red-haired Queen stand over me. She reaches out to me and I pause for a moment before taking her hand and letting her help me to my feet. “Are you hurt?” She asks me quietly so no one else will hear, but I can feel that all eyes are on us as she speaks. I shake my head, too surprised to speak. The gentleness in the omega’s touch is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. 

 

“Everyone go back to your homes for the night,” she announces, looking to the people behind me. “If anyone insults Lady Greyjoy again, you will answer to me. She is going to be your queen as much as I am and you will all show her the respect she deserves. Now leave us. Grenn has lost the privilege of eating in my hall.” I look behind me to see the blacksmith gape and grapple for words, but he’s quickly shown the way out as blood wells from the split in his lip. 

 

As the people start to filter out, Sansa’s walls go back up again and she looks into my eyes, the glare behind them nearly making me look away. More from shame than from fear. Once the hall is empty, save for Arya and Brienne, the Queen finally speaks. 

 

“Are you like them?” She asks me, anger edging her voice as her scent grows more powerful, almost intimidating in its strength. I shake my head, confused. 

 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

 

“Are you like them, or are you better than that?” She asks me, a fire in her eyes as she takes a step towards me. “Because if you are going to act like an animal, then perhaps this alliance isn’t such a sound plan.” 

 

“My Queen, I didn’t mean to insult you, I was trying to defend your honor,” I try to explain, but I can tell that she won’t hear me, not with the anger that’s burning deep behind the ice of her eyes. 

 

“ _ You _ are not responsible for me,” she says firmly and, as much as I hate to admit it, the words sting deep inside me and I look away, my jaw tight. “I can take care of myself.” 

 

“As you wish,” I say quietly, deciding that, no matter how much I want to, the need to defend myself is secondary. Even though the alpha in me demands that I fight for myself, I push it away. This isn’t the time for status contests. I bow and leave the hall, going out into the darkness. Snow floats down from the sky, covering the ground and every other surface flat enough to hold it. 

 

No one follows me and I thank the Drowned God for it. I’m not sure where to go, but my feet lead me to the godswood tree, as though my brother’s spirit has drawn me here. I look at the face of the white-barked tree, my frustration mounting. 

 

“Why do I always lose control?” I ask the tree, like it might answer. “I was just trying to defend her, but now she might just call off our wedding because I let my instincts overrule reason. Why can’t I control myself around her? Why have I already fallen so deeply in love with her?”

 

“It’s in your nature, I’m afraid,” a man’s voice replies, scaring me nearly out of my boots. I whirl around to see Brandon Stark sitting beneath the tree, shielded slightly by the shadow that the godswood tree provides beneath the moon and stars. 

 

“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t see you,” I say softly, walking over to where he sits in his wheelchair, looking up at me with those expressionless eyes before a small smile starts to tug at his lips. 

 

“I didn’t see you either, my lady,” he replies, motioning for me to sit on the large root beside his chair. “Join me.” I nod, sitting atop the root after brushing away a pile of fresh snow. “It’s a bit cold for a stroll, isn’t it, Lady Greyjoy?” I nod, bracing my blows against the tops of my knees as I watch more snow float gently from the dark clouds above. 

 

“Yes, my lord,” I reply, lost within my own little world. The fear that fills me is irrationally strong. I’ve only known Sansa Stark for a short time, but there’s something in my heart that aches to be away from her. I’ve tried to push it off as just instinctual lust or the need for peace I spoke so reverently of. But it’s more than that, I know it is. It has to be. 

 

Otherwise, I’d be asking why Bran was sitting in the cold underneath the white-barked tree. But instead, I was wondering if the red-haired woman that I’d fallen in love with would still want to marry me after I made a complete fool of myself.

 

“Don’t worry,” Bran says in a soft voice, looking down at me as I look up at him, meeting those mysteriously foreign eyes. “She’ll still marry you. It just might take some time for her to trust you.”

 

“Why doesn’t she trust me?” I ask without thinking, feeling as though Bran might have all the answers I seek. “Why does she avoid me? Why won’t she speak to me outside of formal meetings?” 

 

“You know why,” he says simply and dread fills me. I remember the look of terror behind her eyes whenever Ramsay is mentioned in her presence, how she shies away from touch like an injured dog and my heart aches. I stare off into the darkness, my heart heavy as it sinks down into the pit of my stomach. 

 

“She thinks that I’m a monster,” I whisper, my entire body feeling slack and leaden with guilt. “She thinks that I’ll treat her the way that Bolton man did.” Bran only nods, looking sad behind his all accepting face. 

 

“She trusts only a few people. I’ve just barely become one of them and I used to be her brother.” 

 

“Used to be?” I ask softly, looking at the young man’s pale, unreadable face. He nods and looks to me again, snow falling onto his hair before melting into it. 

 

“Brandon Stark is but a name. I’m no longer the boy I once was. I won’t be that person ever again,” he explains simply, his words hitting something deep within me that I can’t understand fully quite yet. 

 

“None of us are the same person we were when all of this started, my lord,” I tell him, but the smile that tugs at his lips doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a pause as he looks back to the tree, as though considering something. 

 

Then he looks to me again and holds out his hand to me. 

 

“Take my hand, Lady Greyjoy. I want to show you something,” he says into the dark night air. I can feel the cold seeping into my lungs, but I take his hand anyway, my curiosity suddenly becoming all I can focus on. 

 

He smiles again in that almost inhuman way and then everything goes white. Then black. And then my eyes are open again. I’m still sitting on the root of the godswood tree, but the sounds of battle fill my ears and fire fills the sky above me as a dragon soars overhead. I jump nearly out of my skin and stand, reaching for my blade and unsheathing it. I look around, suddenly seeing the bodies strewn across the ground, newly dead and long dead lay side by side in the blood-stained snow and my stomach rises. The stench of it is nearly overwhelming, the sudden intensity of battle filling my blood with fire. I look around to see blue eyes glittering all around me and I can feel the breath start to leave my lungs as panic fills me. 

 

This can’t be real. This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare. They’re not real, they’re not real!

 

“Theon,” Bran calls. I whirl around, my brother standing among a littering of dead as he stares at the crippled man. My entire body tenses with the pain of grief at seeing my brother again, his whole body shaking even as he stands firm. 

 

“No,” I whisper, willing my legs to move, begging my body to run and stop him from dying all over again. “No.”

 

“You’re a good man.” 

 

“No, please,” I beg, tears stinging my eyes as I look to see the Night King himself waiting across the courtyard before my gaze flies back to Theon. “Please, don’t do this, not again, please!” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

My brother faces the Night King then, nodding in challenge to the King of Death himself, as though he were about to fight another soldier. Readying his spear, he charges, ripping a scream from my throat as my feet finally obey. I charge after Theon, chasing the boy that I chased all my life. 

He was left with Starks, raised beside them when he should have grown up at my side. Ramsay took him from me when I had finally found him and destroyed him before my eyes. When he had come back again, I couldn’t believe it. And now he’s dead. 

 

I won’t let him die again. I can’t. I won't. 

 

But as my feet carry me across the snowy ground, the fire starts to fade, and my brother’s war cry scatters across the wind. The stench of death evaporates, leaving only the crispness of a cold winter night. The sounds of fighting leave my ears, my own heavy breathing filling my head in its stead. 

 

I gasp for air, opening my eyes to see Brandon Stark again, just where he was before with his cold eyes and pale, expressionless face. I stare up into his eyes, shock and anger filling me as my chest heaves and tears fall down my face, stinging in the cold. 

 

“Why? Why did you show me that?” I ask the younger man, unable to hide the feeling of betrayal. Before now, I could imagine that Theon died as a hero, that his death meant something. But now, after seeing that, the thought feels hollow. The Night King cut him down as if he were nothing more than a blade of grass under his boot. “Why did you let him die, Bran? Why?” I scramble to my feet, staring down at the crippled man before me. 

 

He stares right back at me, seemingly unfazed by my anger, by the rage that fills my chest like boiling tar, overflowing as I shake where I stand, barely resisting the urge to unsheathe my blade and run it through his gut the way the Night King did my brother. 

 

“To make you understand why you’re here,” he tells me in a far too gentle voice, like he understands my pain, like he knows the grief I feel. “Sansa loved your brother. That’s why, among all those other men and women, you were the one she chose. Because you are like him. Strong, brave, loyal, and trustworthy. Everyone believes the war is over now because a few rulers are dead and the Night King is gone, but men fight no matter what the threat may be that comes knocking at their door. You won’t be blinded by the light that spring spreads across our land. So be the woman that your brother knew you were. Be the woman my sister thinks you are.” 

 

I don’t say anything after that, staring down at this strange, unsettling man as I try to understand it all. I don’t know if I ever will truly understand what Bran said, but something inside me knows that there is more to come. That there is more to all of this than an alliance with wolves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys! I have a tumblr @blake-is-strange97 if you want more fun stuff, want to send me requests or just wanna chat. Thanks again and have an awesome day!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding rehearsal and some fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm trying to write chapters fast so I can stay ahead of posting, so if the updates are more than a day or two in between, that's why. Thanks and hope you enjoy!

Sansa’s POV

 

Catlina, my lady-in-waiting, is helping me dress for the wedding rehearsal when a knock comes from my chamber door. 

 

“One moment,” I call to whoever it is, looking myself over once in the mirror as Catlina finishes tying up the laces in the back before covering them with a sheep’s wool cape that runs down my back and touches the floor. When she’s done, I nod to her and she answers the door, bowing before stepping aside. 

 

“It’s Lord Tyrion, your Highness,” the young beta girl says before letting my Hand enter the room. He bows to me, giving me a small but friendly smile. 

 

“You sent for me, your Majesty,” he says, but my patience is already worn thin. I nod to Catlina and she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. 

 

“Please, Tyrion, I can’t take much more of this Queen nonsense,” I say with a sigh, sitting on the edge of my bed, my long, white gown flowing over the side of the bed and covering a fair bit of where I’m sitting. 

 

“But you are the Queen, Sansa,” he replies, coming to sit in one of the wooden chairs beside the hearth. “Though I can understand why such a thing is synonymous with monster, especially in your mind.”

 

“I never asked to be Queen,” I correct him, but I know that he already knows that. Very few people want to be the ruler of an entire kingdom and those who do are usually much like the people we’ve brought down as of late. “I’m sorry. All this wedding business is just getting to me a bit.” 

 

“I can imagine,” he replies, looking much more sympathetic as he looks me over carefully. “But you look beautiful.” 

 

“You flatter me,” I say dryly, not much for being complimented at the moment. “But thank you. I thought that, after Ramsay, the tailor would make me something that isn’t white.” There’s a pause, as though Tyrion doesn’t know what to make of the comment. I let my fingers twirl a loose thread between my fingers. I don’t like to talk about Ramsay. No one does, not really. He was an evil man with no heart to speak of and the mind of a monster. I’ve never truly told anyone everything that had happened to me and I have a feeling that I never will. I’ll end up carrying those memories to the crypt, buried along with me in that cold, stone-filled tomb. 

 

“Cersei wore white on her wedding day and she wasn’t a virgin,” Tyrion says contemplatively and I can’t help the harsh laugh that escapes me. 

 

“Oh, so now you’re comparing me to Cersei?” I ask him, more teasing than anything else. It’s nice to feel something besides the numbness that fills me when I think about the things that have happened to me. So when Tyrion laughs with me, I’m relieved. 

 

“No, I simply mean that your past shouldn’t make you afraid of your future,” he tells me, looking up to meet my gaze. I pause, understanding flowing through me. 

 

“You seem keen on me having an heir, Tyrion,” I say softly, not wanting to be accusatory, but my defenses are already piqued, waiting for anything that might strike me down. 

 

“Only because I want to see a Stark on the throne for the rest of eternity. Apparently, your bloodline is the only sane one left,” he insists, sitting forward in his chair so that I’m somewhat forced to look at him. I pause and feel my jaw stiffen. Children are one of the last things on my mind right now, but apparently, that’s not what everyone else is thinking. 

 

“How can I trust her?” I practically blurt out, feeling all of my fear suddenly begin to surface. “I don’t want to do this, Tyrion. I… I can’t do this again. I can’t let her near me, can’t let her treat me the way Ramsay did. I can’t. Why doesn’t anyone understand? Why can’t I just rule on my own?” But Tyrion is there, his hand gently placed upon mine as I feel tears start to roll down my cheeks in warm lines. The sobs escape me then, as Tyrion, one of the only people I can trust, gently holds my hand in his, rubbing up and down my arm with the other as I feel everything start to flow out of me like a river breaking through a dam. 

 

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Sansa,” he whispers to me, my heart breaking inside of me because I can’t stop being afraid, not truly. I know that I’ve pushed it away, made it impossible to see, impossible to feel, but it never goes away. The night is full of fear and grief and anger and the days have become numb, repetitive, as though I were a donkey strapped to a mill. “She’s not going to hurt you. And if she does, the gods may be the only ones willing to have mercy on her.” 

 

I cry into Tyrion’s shoulder for far too long before the tears subside, but it seems like far too soon as well. I want to stay here in my room forever. I don’t know if I can truly go out there and rehearse this wedding. It feels like walking into the waves without a clue of how to swim. 

 

But I clean my face and walk out into the cold evening air anyway. There’s no crowd like there will be tomorrow, but when I see Yara standing in front of the godswood tree, my heart stops. She’s wearing ceremonial armor decorated with shining metal to look like fish scales, her blade strapped to her belt. Her shoulder-length hair is tied up in a tight bun behind her head, her face much sharper with her hair pulled back completely. Her dark, focused eyes land on me and, for a moment, I swear that I see her gasp before she folds her hands behind her back and bows to me, low and at the waist. My heart leaps into my throat and it’s suddenly impossible to breathe. 

She looks beautiful and strong, dangerous and sharp, but her eyes are gentle as she stands again. Tyrion stands beside me, but Arya comes to stand on my right side after a moment, a knowing look on her face as she holds out her arm to me. I look her over, a bit confused before she speaks. 

 

“Bran thinks I should be the one to give you away,” she tells me and something in me aches. My baby sister, a woman far stronger than I could ever hope to be, is going to walk me down the aisle and give me away to a woman that I hardly know. There’s a strangest of comfort in the idea, but there’s also a fear that fills me as I take her arm, looking back to Yara who’s looking at me like she might faint or vomit. “Don’t be scared,” Arya whispers as she starts to slowly march me closer to towards the woman that I’m going to marry. “This is just for practice. If you change your mind, you have time.” For some reason, though, my sister’s whispered words don’t make me feel any better, 

 

Because when I look into those Ironborn eyes, I don’t want to change my mind. I want to keep walking and run away all at once. I want the world to stop so I can scream until all my fear and doubt washes away in a tidal wave. 

 

But the world doesn’t stop, and as I draw closer to my wife-to-be, my heart races inside me, hammering against my ribs until I’m sure that the alpha can hear it. Arya slips away gracefully, but I hardly notice the lack of her warmth. 

 

The rehearsal passes in a blur. All I can think about is the way Yara is looking at me. Her deep brown eyes are warm against the cold snow night that surrounds us, her gaze never leaving mine. I have to look away a few times because I can nearly feel her reading her mind, like she can sense my fear. 

 

By the end of the ceremony, Grand Maester Tarly has explained the ritual in detail. It’s to be a ceremony much like the last one I partook in, but Tyrion will be officiating since Yara’s father and other male relatives have passed on. My heart aches at the knowledge, realizing suddenly that my future mate has lost as many loved ones as I have. Something about that solemn understanding steals a bit of my fear away. 

 

Dinner that night isn’t exactly the feast that will follow after the true wedding, but it’s warm and the food is well made. But I can’t focus on it much because Yara is sitting beside me now, her wooden chair sitting beside my stone made throne. I wonder fleetingly if I’ll have to have another throne made for her. I probably should be considering we agreed to rule as equals. 

 

I can’t help the way my mind flashes to the image of Yara sitting on a throne, sitting tall with a long, fur-lined cloak flowing down over the seat of the stoney throne, a silver crown sitting atop her head. It will probably be much like my own crown but with a squid as the adornment instead a wolf. I sip absentmindedly at my win, wondering if gold or silver will look best against her brunette hair. 

 

“My Queen,” that deep, quiet voice says near my ear. I turn, a bit surprised as I’m pulled from my daydream. I look into those eyes away, drowning in their dark brown depths for a moment before remembering myself. 

“Yes, Lady Greyjoy?” I ask softly, keeping my voice low so that no one will hear us. It seems that the alpha wishes to converse quietly. 

 

“I wish to discuss some things with you,” she says softly, glancing around for a moment before continuing. “I’ve heard whispers of a rebellious lord further south. He’s just claimed his lands and made his name into a house. I fear that he may cause us some trouble.” I’m surprised by Yara’s words, but not necessarily because of the subject.

 

“What do you suggest we do about it, my lady?” I ask her, getting a momentary pause in response as though the taller woman is considering her answer carefully. 

 

“Perhaps we should speak more on it after the wedding,” she replies, making me repress a shiver. The wedding. Gods, help me. I’m going to be married  _ again _ to someone I hardly know. Despite the apparent necessity, I can’t help the slight resistance within myself. If it were up to me, I’d never marry again and die to be replaced by whosoever wanted to take the throne. But such thoughts were dangerous. Not just anyone can be expected to rule. 

 

“That seems wise,” I whisper before leaning back in my throne and sipping my wine slowly, avoiding the alpha’s gaze as she sits back again, seeming tense. I regard her for a moment, looking her up and down. I look to her plate, seeing that she’s hardly eaten. I feel my brows furrow and lean over again to speak softly into her ear. 

 

“You’ve hardly touched your food. Are you alright?” I ask gently, looking to my own plate that’s in a similar state. 

 

“I must admit, I’m a bit anxious, your Highness,” she replies, looking into my eyes for a moment. “I’ve never been married before.” I pause, my heart softening slightly at the lost look in the other woman’s eyes. I smile a bit despite myself, glancing around before replying. 

 

“Well, I suppose that this marriage will be better than the others I’ve been in,” I tell her gently, getting a soft chuckle in return before her face hardens slightly, guilt flashing behind her eyes. 

 

“Forgive me, I don’t find your past to be very humorous,” she says, but I smile, very gently putting my hand over hers.

“It was a joke,” I say softly, getting a gentle smile in return. “And, please for the love of the gods, please call me Sansa. All of the highnessing is rather redundant and tedious.” She laughs at that, making something warm and fuzzy fill my gut at the rich sound of it. 

 

“Fine, but only if you call me Yara,” she replies, smiling knowingly as her eyes sparkle. I wet my lips, breathing in the rich scent of ocean air and the salty tang of salt water. It’s so strong, so completely Yara that it makes my insides flutter at each inhale and I lose myself for a moment, feeling my eyelids grow heavy. The feeling is dangerous, but my heart doesn’t beat faster for fear. Something in me is changing around this alpha, I can feel it. But I’m too hesitant to explore the thought much. 

 

“Deal,” I manage to reply, but my voice sounds strangely deep, even to my own ears. I clear my throat even as the alpha smirks a bit, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. It’s a confusing sort of sensation, the spike of interest that she causes in me. But I’m not so naive to be unaware of what it means. 

 

I just hope that I can keep my wits about me. I can’t let myself be taken over again, not like last time. No one will ever touch me the way Ramsay did. No one will ever hurt me the way he did. Not even the Queen of Salt and Stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and have an awesome day!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I had literally no time to write this weekend, but hopefully, this makes up for it!

Yara’s POV

 

I look myself over in the mirror, my ceremonial armor feeling much more heavy on my shoulders than usual. Maybe it’s the grey clouds that cover the full moon, or maybe it’s the way Sansa looked this morning when I saw her walking around the courtyard. She was all stone and ice, all business and no softness. I shouldn’t be surprised. We still hardly know each other, we’ve hardly spent any time together and have had fewer conversations than I would’ve liked. But I suppose that this is how it will be now. I’ll love her from afar as we rule side by side, providing a better future for the people of Westeros. 

 

“You look good, Greyjoy,” Arya says from somewhere behind me, making me jump. She’s standing beside the door of my chambers, her arms crossed over her chest as she watches me with dark, focused eyes. “But you look a bit green around the gills. Are you getting cold feet?” I manage a laugh, but it’s a hollow sound, straightening my armor a bit as I try to remind my body to relax. The young Stark woman means no harm by her words, but they sting a bit nonetheless. 

 

“No, though your sister would consider herself lucky if I felt as though my toes were going to freeze off,” I reply, grabbing my belt and fasten it around my waist before strapping my sword to it. Arya stays where she is, regarding me quietly before speaking. 

 

“You’re in love with her,” she says like she knows, a small grin forming along her lips. “Well, that’s unexpected.” 

 

“Not entirely,” I say dryly, sighing as I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I haven’t been this dressed up since my coronation in the Iron Islands. And even then, the ceremony of it all was reduced compared to this. “I fall easily. It’s one of my greatest flaws, I’m afraid.”

 

“I doubt my sister will see it as such,” Arya replies, pausing for a moment as I look at myself in the mirror. This fear I feel deep inside me is foreign. The idea that Sansa will never love me the way I love her is a heavy, terrifying fate to imagine, but I can’t bring myself to turn back, to undo what I’ve done. 

 

“She likes you, you know,” Arya says, catching me off guard for a moment as I look back at her, staring into the reflection in the mirror at the dark haired woman. “She’s just bad at showing it. Be gentle with her. Few others have been so kind.” And with that, my friends leaves the room, leaving me along with the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, Sansa will love me someday. It may not be today, but someday. And that’s all I can ask for. 

 

So when I’m lead out into the courtyard, surrounded by a crowd bearing lit torches, I push my fear away. This is what I was meant to do. 

 

I stand beside Grand Maester Tarly, waiting for the Queen in the freshly fallen snow. I wonder fleetingly when winter will end, if Sansa and I will have been married for more than a decade before the snow melts into the ground and is replaced with the green of spring. 

 

I can’t help imagining how beautiful my future mate will look amongst the life of a new season. Maybe she’ll even smile at me the way she did last night when we spoke. The memory of that short conversation drives me a bit mad on the inside, her smile so bright that it outshines the sun, her scent so sweet that it fills my lungs even now when she isn’t as near as she was last night. The way her skin had shone in the golden firelight had made my heart skip, her ice blue eyes glimmering with amusement when she’d told me to call her Sansa. 

 

I can’t help sighing gently at the memory, my heart feeling clenched tight as though the beautiful omega was holding it in her own fist. And then suddenly, everyone around me is standing up straighter and the scent of pine and ice fills my lungs. I look down the middle isle that runs between all the guests, my heart starting to race against my ribs like a fish caught on a fisher’s line. 

 

Sansa Stark comes into view like a storm, hard and strong but calm and unyielding, her jaw set with determination glimmering in her silver eyes. I stand to my fullest height and watch her as she walks closer and closer, her arm wrapped around Arya’s. Everyone is looking at the Queen of Westeros, except for Arya. The younger alpha has her eyes locked on me, a protective glare covering her usually somewhat friendly face as though to say “I killed the Night King and I’ll kill you too if you hurt my sister.” I swallow hard, my mouth dry as I look Sansa over. 

 

The fur lined gown she wears is something that I know will be branded upon my memory for the rest of my life. She’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen on the land or on the sea. And I’m going to marry her. 

 

Her long red hair flows like water down her back, the silver crown rested neatly atop her head, the sigil of a wolf bearing its teeth to remind me who I’m about to make a deal with. Who I’m about to spend the rest of my life with. 

 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Grand Maester Tarly asks loudly enough for everyone to hear. I can’t tear my eyes away from Sansa as she watches the ground, her eyes stoney and impossible to read. My heart aches at that look, as though she is truly unwilling to go through with this. But she can’t be, otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. 

 

"Sansa, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Arya asks, looking to me expectantly. I swallow around my tongue, trying to regain myself. This is all much more than I expected it to be. I step forward anyway, staring into Arya’s eyes with what I hope is determination.

 

“Yara, of house Greyjoy, Queen of Salt and Rock and Daughter of the Sea Wind. Who gives her?” I say firmly, my hands folded behind my back. The way my heart is racing makes it hard to breathe right, almost like my body knows that this is what I’ve dreamed of for so long. Marrying a woman I love, taking her as if she were my own flesh and protecting her from anyone or anything that might harm her. But I know deep within my bones that Sansa Stark doesn’t need a protector. She is her own protector now and has been since the last time she stood in this very place to be given to a man whose heart was black as tar and his mind a mush of evil and sin. 

 

“Arya, of House Stark, who was her father’s daughter,” Arya replies, her glare fading a bit as she looks me over the way she did in my chamber but a half an hour ago. I wonder if she sees the same in me now that she saw in me then; fear and love. Love so indescribable that it makes it hard to think of anything that isn’t Sansa. 

 

“Queen Sansa, do you take this woman?” Grand Maester Tarly asks, leaving silence behind the question that makes my knees feel weak. She could say no and walk away, tell me that this was all a mistake and that she never should have trusted me. But suddenly, when Sansa looks into my eyes, there is no thought left in me that leaves room for doubt. Those ice colored eyes hold the secrets of a mind that I can only pray to one day know fully. Those eyes stare into the very core of myself I’m helpless to stop them, like a small pebble being rolled through the waves, my fate is not my own. My fate is tied to that of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and South, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and the strongest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. 

 

So when she speaks, I nearly drop to my knees.

 

“I take this woman,” she says to me more so than the Grand Maester, my heart fairly leaping out of my chest. I’m awestruck for a moment, but I refocus myself, slowly reaching out to gently take off the white cloak that the omega is wearing over her gown and passing it to Arya before undoing my own cloak with the sigil of my house as the clip. I place it over Sansa’s shoulder, clipping it again and feeling something in me shift as I reach out to take her hand. She takes it without hesitance. I lead her to the tree and we both kneel before it. There’s a silent moment of prayer before Sansa and I get to our feet again and turn to face the crowd. 

 

There’s only a momentary pause before people start to cheer. My own men seem to start to affect, but it rolls over the rest of the guests for a long moment as I lead Sansa back to the grand hall, her hand wrapped around my elbow. It’s only in that moment that I realize my wife is shaking. 

 

My wife. A protectiveness fills me at the thought and I gently cover her hand with mine, walking us a fair bit ahead of the crowd. I lean down to whisper in her ear as we walk, hoping that my words are more comfort than anything else. 

 

“I’m honored, Sansa. Truly, I am. Let this be a night of celebration for our people,” I whisper gently, releasing a hint of my own scent in the hopes that it might soothe her. Much to my surprise, Sansa relaxes a bit against me, moving her body closer to mine as we enter the hall, the tables already covered in massive plates of food. 

 

We walk to our seats at the high table and I let her sit before I sit beside her, unable to stop myself from looking at her. She’s so beautiful, but she looks so small suddenly, as though her fears are coming to the surface. 

 

But soon she’s sitting up tall again, looking every inch the majestic ruler of the whole of Westeros. And she’s my wife. The thought is intoxicating to me. I’m married to Sansa Stark, the woman I love and she is even more beautiful today then she was yesterday, as though she grows more beautiful every time the sun rises and sets. 

 

The people eat and drink in merriment, filling the hall with life. There’s even a band of a few men who play surprisingly moving music. I can’t help tapping my foot as I watch people dance. Even Brienne is dancing, Tyrion her far smaller partner. I cover my grin and barely hold in a laugh that comes out as a bit of a huff. Sansa looks to me, a twinkle in her own eye. 

 

“They make quite the pair,” she says to me and I laugh then because it just sounds so ridiculous and looks even funnier to see the giantess of Tarth being danced around by the Lannister man. 

 

“Indeed, though they seem ill-matched,” I reply, glad to see the omega smiling as she relaxes on her throne. I pause for a moment, glancing back over to the dance floor before getting to my feet and bowing deeply. 

 

“If it pleases you, my Queen, I’d love to dance with you,” I say as I hold out my hand, staring into those beautifully dangerous eyes again. She smiles at me, hesitating only for a moment as she looks out at the people dancing. But she takes my hand before long and stands. I lead her out and turn back to her, taking both her hands and pulling her a bit closer to whisper in her ear. “I must warn you, I’m a terrible dancer.”

 

“Don’t worry, only the whole of my keep is watching,” she teases, making me laugh as we start to dance. I twirl her, letting her spin under my arm and then around again. As though on cue, the band starts to play a more fast-paced song that requires the pairs to switch partners back and forth. I groan a bit and pray to the gods that I don’t embarrass myself too terribly. 

 

The music picks up and the dancing speeds up with it, people laughing and dancing and cheering. But my eyes are only for the Queen. She smiles and laughs as Tyrion passes her to Arya and Arya passes her to Brienne. My heart flutters at the sound of her laugh and I nearly fall to my knees. Her beauty is almost too much to bare. And then Lord Baratheon is passing her my way. I catch her in my arms, the two of us panting from the exertion of dancing. 

 

She looks up at me, my arms wrapped tightly around her as though by instinct. My heart races in my chest as we stare silently at each other, Sansa’s smile never fading as she reaches up to gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind my ear that I’d been worrying about all night. The gentle touch nearly does me in, my breath hitching as I pray that she can’t hear my heartbeat as loudly as a war drum. 

 

“You’re not such a bad dancer for an Ironborn,” she says to me quietly, as though no one else in the world could hear her but me. I laugh shakily and slowly loosen my grip on her, afraid that I might be scaring her with the possessiveness of my touch. 

 

“My part is minimal compared to yours, your Majesty,” I reply, but she puts a finger to my lips and I nearly lose consciousness as the softness of it. 

 

“Call me Sansa,” she says, smiling at me as though I were the only woman that was lucky enough to see such a perfect smile. 

 

“Sansa,” I say a bit breathlessly, noticing a blush cover the omega’s cheeks at the sound of her own name. I feel my alpha pride puff up a bit, but I try to keep my scent down, not wanting to scare her away. 

 

The rest of the night is full of laughter and dancing and drinking. But soon, Sansa claims she is tired and leaves the great hall with Brienne at her side. I watch her go, sighing like a love-sick pup as I lean against one of the cool stone walls. 

 

“Aren’t you going with her?” A man’s voice asks and I look down to see Tyrion sipping at a glass of wine. I sigh and shake my head. 

 

“Not yet. I’m honestly not sure if I’m supposed to sleep in her room or mine tonight,” I reply, sitting in a chair beside his. He scoffs and sets down his wine. 

 

“You know this is your wedding night, right?” He asks me dryly, making me roll my eyes. 

 

“I know, but she’s already had one horrible wedding night, I don’t want to give her another,” I say softly, folding my hands atop the table to wring them together. 

 

“Two,” Tyrion says as though he’s correcting me. Realization hits me and I look down to him again. 

 

“I forgot that your sister made you marry her,” I say as he shrugs, chugging down his wine. 

 

“Well, you know what they say, third time’s the charm,” he says before pouring himself more wine. “Not to mention that, if you don’t follow her up soon, some people might start to get a bit suspicious. I’m not sure how they do it on the Iron Islands, but normally the wedding night is for consummation.” 

 

I swallow hard and glance around, seeing a few of the men watching me carefully, as though they’re waiting to see what I’ll do next. A hint of protectiveness fills me and I stand before Tyrion can say more. 

 

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion. I’ll be taking my leave.” I stalk off before he can reply, my feet leading me to the stairs that lead up to the second floor. I follow the hall and find the door that has two guards posted outside. I nod to them in greeting, but they watch me warily, as though I were still a stranger. 

 

“I’m here to see the Queen,” I tell them. They nod and let me pass. I knock on the heavy wooden door, surprised when Brienne answers it, still dressed her heavy silver armor. 

 

“Lady Greyjoy, what may I do for you?” She asks me, looking down at me with guarded eyes. I nod and try to focus myself. The knight is an omega, no threat to my relationship with Sansa. If anything, I admire her for keeping such vigilant watch over the Queen for so long. 

 

“I would like to see the Queen, Ser Brienne,” I reply, getting a glimpse of Sansa sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into the flames of the hearth as tears track down her face. The urge to protect fills me again and I nearly push past Brienne as she speaks. 

 

“Her Majesty isn’t feeling well and would -“ 

 

“No, let her in, Brienne. I want to speak with her,” Sansa interrupts, wiping her face on the handkerchief in her hands. The tall woman pauses before stepping aside. I step past her, nodding in acknowledgment before taking a few steps towards the red-haired woman as she stares into the fire, taking a deep breath. 

 

“I’m sorry for leaving without you,” she says, looking up at me for a moment. The sadness behind her eyes tugs on my heart so roughly that I nearly feel tears fill my own eyes. I hesitate for a moment before sitting on the bed beside her, making sure that there’s space between us. 

 

“No need to apologize,” I reply softly, not wanting to press her. Tyrion’s words echo in my head, but my own heartaches violently at the idea of forcing Sansa into lying with me simply for tradition’s sake. “Are you alright?” The other woman shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she wipes her eyes with the small white handkerchief. 

 

“I’m not sure,” she replies, looking into the fire again. “There’s so much that I must do for my people. Some of those things are… More difficult than others.” I nod, having a feeling that I know exactly what she means. I hadn’t noticed that Brienne had left the room until the door closed with a gentle thud. I swallow hard, praying to the Drowned God that I don’t say the wrong thing. 

 

“I actually came to discuss some of those things,” I say gently, intertwining my fingers together in my lap as I try to organize my thoughts into speakable chunks. “I want you to know that there is no need… to… consummate our marriage until you’re ready. I…”

 

“You’re unwilling to be as cruel to me as Ramsay was,” she finishes for me, but when I look at her face, her expression is unreadable. “I appreciate that. But we’re supposed to create an alliance through an heir. How are we going to do that if we don’t lie together?” 

 

“Our alliance is fine as it is, I won’t take advantage of you over politics,” I say a bit too firmly, but it seems to get my message across. Sansa looks up at me, confusion written plainly on her face. “I… I care for you. I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to do. As far as I’m concerned, you make all the decisions right now. Until you feel like you can trust me, I won’t touch you.” 

A silence forms between us for a long time, the only sounds being the faint music from the great hall and the crackling of the fire. 

 

“Thank you,” Sansa finally says, putting her hand atop my own as she looks up at me again. “I… I’ll never know how to thank you for this.” 

 

“Just don’t push yourself. I’m here to serve you, not take you to bed at the first chance I get,” I tell her gently, looking into her eyes. 

 

After some time, we decide to sleep together in her room, but I let her have the bed, eventually finding a comfortable position on the plush armchair beside the hearth. As I drift off to sleep, I dream of soft skin and gentle sighs, of Sansa’s hands against my own skin, of her soft lips pressed to mine. 

 

But it is only a dream, one that I well know may never come to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and have an awesome day!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of time passes before Sansa realizes something new is happening to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, you guys. I just wanna preface these next few chapters by saying that I have no idea how it feels to be a rape/abuse survivor and that, as much as I want to be accurate to these amazing characters, some of my assumptions about how Sansa feels about sex after Ramsay could be totally wrong. If I make a mistake or say something wrong, please let me know and I will fix it. Part of the reason I chose for this to be more slow burn is because of Sansa's past. I didn't want to rush her character into something that she might not be emotionally ready for. Anyways, that's my speech, please don't rip me apart because I am more than willing to admit that I have no idea how someone in Sansa's shoes would feel. I can only guess.   
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter.

Sansa’s POV

 

The months of winter drag on and on, the cold growing deeper as food becomes more scarce. I spend a lot of my time meeting with Lord Bronn of Highgarden. His arrogance is an annoyance that is difficult for me to overlook, but Tyrion helps. So does Yara, but her help is a little less of a mediatory type and more of a soothing source for me. 

 

Her scent washes over me now more often than I would like to admit. Now that we share the same bed, it’s hard to escape the salty sea smell that makes my toes curl in a strangely arousing sort of way. I’d never admit such a thing out loud, even though Yara has left our more intimate relationship completely under my control. Which I deeply appreciate and despise at the same time. 

 

I can hardly count the number of times I’ve awoken to her warm body pressed to mine, as though her sleeping mind had drawn her near to me and wrapped me in the soft firmness of her muscled form. Not to mention her… Well, as some would say, she was standing at attention and ready for battle most mornings, but she always thinks I’m asleep when she notices and goes to the washroom to take care of such things. 

 

I rub my thighs together beneath the table where I sit with Lord Bronn, Lord Tyrion, Ser Brienne, and Yara. Tyrion is trying to negotiate a fresh shipment of grain to the most northern houses since the animal populations have been slim since the Night King’s attacks. It’s no surprise that his armies chased out most of the animals that my people hunt and live off of during the deepest years of winter, but it is surprising that Lord Bronn is so opposed to sending aid. 

 

“Lord Bronn, you know full well the Highgarden is the most fertile growing land in all of Westeros,” I interrupt, the discussion between the lord and my Hand having become more of an argument between friends. 

 

“Aye, your Highness. That’s why I’m being particularly stingy. My own people have been having as much trouble finding food as yours,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “And your Hand is less than willing to pay a fair price.” 

 

“A barter then,” I say before Tyrion can disagree. “Our finest weapons and armor for your grain.”

 

“What need have I for weapons and armor?” He asks me with a bit of a sneer. I watch him a bit coldly, wishing Tyrion had never promised such a man so much power. 

 

“The same need that we all have for it, my lord,” I tell him, looking to Yara. She’s not only my wife now, but Tyrion recently suggested making her my Master of War. A stunningly pleasant and convenient idea considering her background. “My Master of War tells me that there are many smaller rebellions that have broken out in your land because of how you’ve been spending the gold in your treasury. So, I think that since you’re willing to waste money on whores, then you should be willing to accept anything we give you.” 

 

There’s a pause as Lord Bronn considers me, as though he wants to argue. 

 

“Fine. I’ll take your weapons and armor and your gold and send you the food you’ve asked for. But don’t come crying to me when the rebellions ramp up and start knocking on your door,” he says before storming out. I sigh heavily as he leaves, pinching the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache I feel growing at the front of my skull. 

 

“Why is he causing so many problems?” I ask Tyrion who is drinking from a goblet as he leans back in his chair. 

 

“Because he wants more power and money, that’s what he’s always wanted,” my Hand replies, giving me an apologetic look. “I wouldn’t have given him the power he has now if he hadn’t had a crossbow pointed at my chest.”

 

“Do you think that he will continue to be a problem?” Yara asks, her voice soothing me more than it should, but I suppose if you spend enough time with someone and have enough pleasant talks, than a person’s voice would become quite soothing. 

 

“I hope not, your Grace,” Tyrion replies, getting to his feet. “That was our last meeting for the day. I will take my leave. I believe there has been a small tiff between the stable master and his apprentice, so I will go take care of that.” 

 

“Do you have any further need of me, your majesty?” Brienne asks me politely, I shake my head and wave her off playfully. 

 

“Go relax, Ser Brienne, you’ve had a long day,” I tell her. She smiles and bows before walking out. I’m left alone with my wife, feeling myself relax. One thing I’ve learned about Yara over the past few months is that she doesn’t care who I am when I’m with her, as long as I’m comfortable. We’ve spent a considerable amount of time alone as of late, but she hasn’t pushed me, not once touching me without being invited or out of necessity from one situation or another. It’s come to the point where her touch has become somewhat comfortable and sometimes I expect it even when she isn’t going to touch me. But recently, the last few days specifically, I’ve felt a strange sort of tingle along my skin each time we’ve brushed past each other or I’ve wrapped my arm around hers as we walk through the courtyard. 

 

Part of me wonders if something has changed, especially since I’ve been strangely warm all over whenever I’m near her. I’ve become used to the butterflies that fill my belly when she smiles at me or touches my hand, but there’s something different about the fluttering heat I’ve felt deep in my core the past few days. And I’ve found myself daydreaming of rather strange things, things I haven’t thought of since I was young as well as some things I’ve never thought of. 

 

As my wife stands now, starting to look over the report of growth that Lord Bronn brought with him, the look of determination on her face stirs something deep within me that’s difficult to ignore. Perhaps I’m coming down with something. I feel warm again suddenly, even though the fire in the hearth is almost out and I have to breathe deeply to steady myself. 

 

This proves to be a mistake, though, because when I breathe in, the alpha’s scent fills my lungs like fire and I have to swallow so I don’t gasp. I feel my core flutter, a heat like I’ve never felt before building between my thighs. I shift uncomfortably, trying to keep myself calm. I’ve never felt anything like this before, never felt so hot, like my skin is on fire. I feel strangely empty deep inside myself, like something is missing. 

 

“Do you know how to fight?” Yara asks me suddenly, making me jump a little as my eyes snap to meet hers. I’d barely noticed how I’d been staring at her as my thoughts had spiraled and I swallowed around my tongue. 

 

“No, I’ve never fought a day in my life,” I reply, my heart fluttering when my wife smiles devilishly at me. She steps around the table and holds out her hand to me. 

 

“Come, I want to teach you,” she says to me, making me blink for a moment as my mind tries to unravel her words. 

 

“Why?” I ask softly, not sure why in the world I would need to know how to fight. 

 

“It’s a good skill to have,” she explains, as though I don’t know how much knowing how to defend oneself can be instrumental in staying alive. But I hold my tongue, nodding and smiling as I take Yara’s hand and stand, though my knees shake when our skin touches. I hold back a whimper as I steady myself, blushing when I see concern blossom on Yara’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

 

“No, no, just feeling a bit under the weather,” I reassure her, wrapping my arm around hers as she leads me out to the courtyard and then the training grounds. 

 

“We should take you to bed if you’re not feeling well, my love,” she says softly, making every inch of my skin sing with the words. She’s taken to calling me that in public now and it sounds sweeter than any music in the world when the words pass her lips. But sometimes, even when we are in a crowd, she’ll say it so softly that only I can hear it. And in those moments, everything inside me screams for me to kiss her. But I never do and part of me is scared I never will. 

 

“I’m fine, I promise,” I say softly, squeezing her elbow as we walk. When we get to the training yard, she grabs a bow and strings it, making sure that it’s firm yet yielding in her grasp. She nods, seemingly satisfied before grabbing a scabbard full of arrows and walking over to me. I smile at her and wait patiently, though my skin burns with every second that I’m not touching her. 

 

“Hold this,” she instructs me, passing me the bow. I take it in my right hand, examining it as I try not to worry so much about the emptiness I feel deep in my gut. “Hold it like you think it should be held.” I pause and try to remember how my brothers would hold their bows while they trained, lifting it a bit in my right hand and gently curling my first two fingers around the string. 

 

“That’s not bad,” Yara says and my omega instincts have me nearly shivering at the affectionate praise. Before I can blink, Yara has her hand on my shoulder and my heart quickens. “Can I show you?” She asks me quietly, glancing around. “I’ll have to be rather close to you.” I nod before I can think twice about it, my body aching for her touch so badly that I feel as though I might scream like a petulant child. 

 

“Of course,” I reply softly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. The alpha slowly wraps her arm around me, her hands covering mine gently, as though I might spook like a skittish foul. The warmth of her against me if like a balm to my skin, as though she were meant to be pressed close to me, her breath gently brushing my ear as she speaks.

 

“Your grip is good, but you need to relax your shoulders and widen your stance,” she instructs me softly, using her feet to gently guide one of my legs away from the other. I gasp softly, unable to stop it as I stare at her left hand covering mine as I grip at the wooden bow like my life depends on it. “Try to breathe, my love. Your knuckles are turning white.” I swallow around the lump in my throat as she gently strokes along my knuckles with her thumb, an affectionate gesture that sets my instincts reeling. “Remember, you can do this. Aim for the target and the rest is just practice. You’ve done more to worse men with less.” I nod, pushing down the uncertainty that tries to fill me. 

 

I may not know what’s gotten into me, but I can do this. I can do anything. Yara’s body pressed to mine reminds me that, even when I feel out of my element, I can evolve like I always have. I evolved when they killed my father, when they kept me prisoner in that hell hole of a castle, when Joffrey tortured me, when Little Finger stole me away, when Margaery died. When my family was murdered. When Ramsay used me again and again and again. I let the arrow loose as the anger fills me, watching as it hits home, sticking out of the training dummy’s head. 

 

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, staring in disbelief at what I’d managed to do. I’d never used a weapon like this in my life and now I’m learning how to kill. 

 

“Nice shot,” Yara says quietly, a smile in her voice. I lower the bow and turn to look into her eyes, seeing something there that I’ve only seen a few times before. But this is different. This is the love I’ve always wanted, the respect that I’ve worked so hard to earn. Yara gives me everything, she always has. She’s been the most patient, loving person in my life since I was a child and the thought draws tears to my eyes as I drop the weapon to the ground and cup her face in my hands, stroking along her cheeks with my thumbs. 

 

Her dark brown eyes widen and her body stiffens, surprise plain on her face. 

 

“Sansa, I-“ 

 

“Shut up,” I say softly, standing up on my toes to kiss her. When my lips press to hers, it’s rougher than I originally planned, but it’s perfect. Her lips are so soft, so gentle and still beneath mine. I can feel her holding back, can feel it in the stiffness of her jaw, the tightness of her body as I press myself closer to her. 

 

The heat that flows through me is undeniable and nearly unbearable. I suddenly crave so much more, things I’ve never wanted before. Things I never thought I’d want for the rest of my life. 

 

“Please,” I whisper breathlessly against her lips, my hands moving to stroke through the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me. “Kiss me back, please.” I’m surprised at the needy tone to my voice, but I can’t help it. Yara gently wraps her arms around me, but the kiss doesn’t come. 

 

“Not here,” she says breathlessly, making me look up at her in confusion. And then I feel the eyes on us and my heart nearly stops. I look around and see a couple of the guards staring dumbfounded at us, as though we were a show for them. 

 

“What are you staring at?” Yara growls at the two men, sending a shiver through me that nearly has me whimpering and moaning like a common whore. “Find something to do before I have you locked in the dungeons for gawking at your Queen. Go!” 

 

The men scurry off, smelling of submission and fear. I bite my lip to hold back a moan as Yara’s scent surrounds me, the safety of her presence filling my body with warmth. 

 

“Please, Yara, I need… I…” I trail off, the thoughts of what I  _ need _ filling me with a strange mixture of fear and arousal. I swallow around a whine and squirm a bit, but Yara’s arms are still wrapped tightly around me. She leans down, her face drawing close to my neck. I freeze, my instincts making me stay absolutely still for the strong alpha as she inhales deeply. I nearly faint, my eyes rolling back in my head. I have the sudden urge to grab the back of her head and beg her to mark me and the thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me. 

 

“You smell different,” she says with a bit of a rasp to her voice, her hands gripping tightly to the back of my gown, making me shake. I feel unbearably hot in my clothes now, too restricted. I’ve never felt such a strong urge to be naked, to just take off all my clothes and let Yara… Oh Gods, this is bad. “Are you in heat?” She asks me, her words filling me with terror. 

 

“N-no, can’t be, I’ve never… I haven’t…” but the words won’t come out. I’ve never been in heat before and after Ramsay, I never thought that I would be able to. 

 

“Come on, I’m taking you to the Grand Maester,” she says, picking me up bridal style. I gasp and wrap my arms around her neck, clinging tightly to the strong alpha who’s carrying me as if I weigh nothing at all. “I knew I should’ve taken you to see him earlier, you’ve been shaking like a leaf all day and your scent’s been strange since last night.” 

 

I blink dumbly at my wife, remembering how, deep in the darkness of night, she had pulled me closer to her, my back pressed to her front. I’d pretended to be asleep, I didn’t want her to let go. But now that I think back on it, I suppose something in me had shifted in that moment. Maybe being in the presence of a strong alpha had made me go into heat.

The walk to the Grand Maester’s chambers is a blur, but when we get there, Maester Tarly has me sit in a chair and examines me thoroughly, checking my skin, temperature and even my eyes. I sit through it all, even as I stare at Yara who’s watching me carefully, like I might pounce on her. 

 

Guilt fills me at the thought. I shouldn’t have kissed her without permission, it was wrong. But by the Gods, it felt so right, as though her lips were made to kiss mine. 

 

“When did this start?” Grand Maester Tarly asks me and I blink myself back to reality, looking at him before my eyes fall to the floor and I try to remember. 

 

“I… I don’t know,” I reply weakly, gripping at the skirt of my gown as I press my thighs together. I feel an uncomfortable slickness beginning to cover them as I sit in a closed space, Yara’s protective pheromones surrounding me. 

 

“She’s been shaking since the meeting with Lord Bronn, and hasn’t been acting herself,” Yara says for me, sounding a bit frightened. Part of me hopes that it’s not because she’s afraid of what I’d do to her. Not that I’d be able to do much to a strong, able-bodied warrior like her. 

 

“Well, she’s definitely going into heat,” Maester Tarly confirms, looking a bit nervous. “I’d take her to her chambers and lock the door before every alpha in all of the Seven Kingdoms comes for her. Everyone for a mile would’ve smelled her by now.” A harsh blush covers me and I look away, shame filling my gut like rocks. 

 

“I’m sorry,” I say shakily, wrapping my arms around myself. Yara kneels beside me, her hand gently cover my knee.

 

“This isn’t something you can control,” she says gently, looking into my eyes. I pause, my heart fluttering in my chest and my skin aches at her touch. “I’ll take you back to our room and… and we’ll get you settled. Alright?”

 

I nod, not sure what settled will entail, but the omega inside me hopes it means that our marriage will finally be consummated. 

 

Gods help me, I need to make the ache stop. I need to drown myself in the sea of Yara’s affection or I feel as though I might die. 

 

I just hope that she wants this. That she wants me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and have an awesome day!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, so there's no actual sex in this chapter. I'm sorry, I know the smut is what we come to omegaverse for, but I think that Sansa still needs time to heal. I hope that this will tide you guys over until the next chapter. I'm still vacillating over when the smut will come, but I promise it'll be soon!

Yara’s POV

 

Sansa is shaking like a leaf as I carry her up to her chambers. Well, our shared chambers. When we’re inside, I lock the door, not wanting anyone else to find a way in. My wife stays near me no matter what I do and the feeling is… odd, but not unsettling. It is a bit scary, though, because I’m not sure if her being in heat means I get to be near her or… touch her. 

 

“Sansa, you need to rest,” I say gently, reaching out to guide her to the bed. When my hands touches her shoulder, she nearly jumps out of her skin, panting as she looks up at me. There’s an animalistic hunger in those deep silver eyes and it makes the alpha in me crawl its way into my mind, my heart quickening in my chest as my shaft starts to harden despite the amount of control I thought I had. After years of war and fighting, the discipline of a soldier transferred to the rest of my life, even my intimate life. 

 

“Yara,” the omega whispers, reaching out to press her hands against my chest as she tries to draw closer to me, her sweetened scent filling my lungs and surrounding the room around us. I feel a possessive growl building in my chest, the scent of my wife’s heat nearby driving me insane as I try my best to resist. 

 

“Sansa, you’re in heat,” I remind her as gently as I can, but there’s a growl to my voice that I hadn’t meant to be there and it doesn’t seem to make her want to listen to my words. She draws closer to me, pressing her delicate frame to mine. She gasps, her eyes widening and it takes me a moment to realize why. 

 

My shaft is so hard that it aches, pulsing with its own heartbeat beneath my trousers. I swallow hard and try to pull away, horrified at my own body’s reaction to someone who doesn’t want me. Sansa’s never wanted to lay with me, why should her heat be any different?

 

“I’m so sorry, my Queen, I… I should go.”

 

“No,” Sansa nearly shouts, desperation in her voice as she grabs my arm and holds onto me with surprising strength. “Please, Yara, my love, please.” 

 

Her words make my heart skip and my fists clench, my entire body tight with indecision. My heart aches as I step closer to Sansa, her whole body hot and shaking as I cup her cheek with one of my hands to look into her eyes. The feral need of instinct is there, deeply woven into those always steady eyes. But the woman I fell in love with is still there, buried just below the surface, her need shining just as brightly as the needs of her body. 

 

“Sansa, how do I know that you want this? You’ve never shown any interest in me before this, how do I know that this is what you really want?” I ask her, wondering if she’ll even be able to answer me with the state she’s in. 

 

“I love you, Yara,” she says softly, as though it were obvious. I nearly fall back onto my ass at the words, but I manage to stay upright, worrying my lip. The sincerity of her words is undeniable, but there’s a part of me that’s scared to be hurt, scared that, when her heat is over, Sansa Stark will reject me. Or worse, have been hurt by me. “I always have. I… I may have been too naive to know it at first, but ever since I saw you, I knew that I was meant to be with you. You’re so strong and kind and you never push me to do things that you know I’m scared of. But I’m not scared. Not now. I… I know that my instincts are overwhelming my mind more than I’m used to, but I know that I want you. I know that I want to give you everything. Please. I want to be one with you, please, Yara.” 

 

The slight whine that enters her voice is a warning to what happens next. She nearly doubles over, gripping onto my tunic for dear life. I barely catch her in time as she gives a surprised cry of pain and my entire mind and body responds with the protectiveness that I’ve always felt towards the red-haired woman in my arms. 

 

My body acts nearly on its own as I gently press the omega closer to me, panting as I look to the bed. I’ve seen an omega go into heat before, I know that these sort of pains come when it first starts, but I’ve never seen them nearly knock an omega to ground in pain.

 

I lift her in my arms and gently lay her on the bed. She curls in on herself, panting as tears roll down her cheeks. My chest clenches tightly and I slowly climb over her, brushing a strand of her hair aside before leaning down to kiss the soft, delicate skin along the column of her throat. She gasps and whimpers, the sound filling me with renewed sureness. 

 

So I gently nip and suck at the spot, leaving it red and purple before long as the Queen of Westeros nearly melts beneath me, her hands reaching up to touch me through my clothes. Those long, delicate fingers stir something in me that no other omega ever has, their gentle, searching touch lighting a fire in my blood. 

 

“Promise me,” I whisper breathlessly against Sansa’s neck, kissing the bruised spot apologetically. “Promise me that you want this.”

 

“I swear to you, alpha, I swear,” she gasps out, tugging insistently at my clothes. “Please, I need you. Need… oh, Gods help me.” I can’t help the growl that rumbles through me at her words, my entire body tightly coiled as I gently pull away and start to unfasten the ties at the front of Sansa’s gown, my heart racing faster and eyes widening more and more as every inch of Sansa’s pale skin is revealed to me. She sits up to help me get it off her shoulders, panting a bit as she shakily pulls the gown past her breasts, making my heart nearly stop. 

My mouth waters as I take her in, watching her chest heave with a heavy rise and fall, the soft, rounded mounds topped with delicate pink peaks that just beg to be tasted. I lick my lips, my heart hammering against my ribs like a drum as I drink the omega in with my eyes. Sansa seems to feel my hesitance because she reaches out, gently taking my hands to press it to the middle of her chest. That’s when I notice the scars. They line her chest like stripes, evidence of the battles she’s had to fight behind the walls of a castle. I trace the white lines with my thumb, my heart aching as I feel tears sting my eyes. 

No one deserves this kind of pain, especially not her. No one deserves the memories these scars bring to the woman I love. 

 

“You’re so beautiful,” I manage to say, my throat tight as I finally look back into Sansa’s eyes. She blushes more, if such a thing is possible, the pink hue traveling down her chest to warm her skin further. 

 

“I’m yours,” she whispers breathlessly, covering my hand with hers as my own hand covers her heart, a gentle, teary-eyed smile tugging at her lips. She cups my face with her free hand and leans in to kiss me, the softness of her lips stealing my breath as much as it did the first time, just twenty minutes ago. “Just… Please be gentle. I… it’s been a long time since-“

 

I shush Sansa gently, looking into her eyes as our kiss ends for a moment. 

 

“Don’t think about last time. This is for us. For you. No one else,” I say gently, kissing her again but with more slowness and gentleness than before. Because that’s what Sansa deserves and that’s what I’m going to give her. I promise myself internally that, no matter what I feel, this is for her. However long her heat lasts, however much I want to pursue my own pleasure, none of it matters as long as I please my wife. 

 

And then I pause, a strange but important thought coming to my mind.

 

“Should we get protection of some kind?” I ask her softly, suddenly very aware of the possibility that Sansa will get pregnant. In fact, while she’s in heat, it’s pretty much a guarantee. An alpha could sneeze around an omega in heat and she’d bare their pups. There’s a pause as Sansa seems to have an internal struggle, obviously torn between her instincts, royal responsibilities and fear. 

 

“Well, Tyrion has told me more than once that I need an heir before long, otherwise there may be other, more worrisome rebellions closer to our own borders,” she says thoughtfully, but there’s fear in her eyes, like she’s not really sure. 

 

“If you’re not ready, then we don’t have to go any further than what’s necessary to satiate your heat,” I tell her softly, leaning my forehead against hers as she looks into my eyes, watching me like she’s not fully understanding my words. 

 

“The Gods will have their will with us,” she says softly, the words seeming to give her more confidence than they would me if I were in her shoes. If I were so ready to resign my fate to any god that would care, I’d be long dead by now. But the thought of trusting fates beyond her control seems to calm the fragile omega, and I’m not about to argue with her at the moment. 

 

“As you wish, my love,” I reply gently, pulling away from her to pull off my tunic, letting it fall to the floor before undoing the cloth that binds my breasts. 

 

A rush of omega pheromones fills my lungs as I undress, making my eyes flutter and my shaft ache with fullness, reminding me how hard I am just from seeing the woman I love half naked. I look into the omega’s eyes and hers are glued to my body as I suddenly feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt being naked in front of anyone before. Something about this moment being real is strangely disorienting. Maybe it’s the fact that the love of my life is here with me, seeing me as I’ve been dreaming since the day I met her. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me, taking me in as if I’m a glimmering ray of sun shining through the water’s surface or a sun setting slowly along the horizon of darkening waves. 

 

It makes me ache inside while simultaneously filling me with a kind of joy that I’ve never known before. I’ve been naked around more women than I can truly remember in this moment, but the way Sansa looks at me is more than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll never tire of those eyes, of the way those pink lips part ever so slightly to gasp as my wife takes in what I look like beneath everything else. Without my crown, without my blade, without my armor, without my walls and ships and politics. Beyond it all, Sansa knows me and that feeling is irreplaceable. And I want her to feel it too. I want the beautiful woman before me to know what my love feels like.

 

“Can I help?” She asks me, getting to her feet as I do the same, having begun to reach down to untie the laces of my trousers. I swallow thickly, nodding as I move my hands aside. Sansa only hesitates for a moment, taking a slow step closer to me as she slowly unties the ornate laces that tie up the rather fancy trousers she insists I wear to the small council meetings. Even as the omega shakes, her delicate fingers make short work of the laces, her hands quivering as she reaches to try and pull my trousers off. But there’s fear in her now, I can smell it and I can see it in the shimmering blue of her eyes. 

 

So I gently take her hands in mine, steadying her a bit. 

 

“Sansa… Nothing has to happen that you’re not ready for,” I remind her softly, wrapping my arms around her when she leans against me, her knees probably feeling weak from the symptoms of her heat. I let my hands move up and down her back as she presses her forehead to my chest, her hands slowly moving over the tightening muscles of my abdomen. I can’t help the shudder that runs through me at the cherishing touch, the warmth of her palms against my skin driving my alpha instincts a bit wild and it takes more willpower than it should to stay still, my hands moving up and down the smooth plain of the omega’s back as her own instincts call out to me softly. The subtle change in her scent is like a lighthouse, a call through the darkness that leads me home. 

 

“You keep saying that,” she says softly, barely above a whisper. I can feel her fingertips move searchingly over a scar that runs from my belly button to the bottom of my ribs. A near death experience of mine, a skilled warrior with a spear and a thirst for blood in his hungry eyes as my men attacked his castle walls. But the memory fades swiftly from my mind when Sansa’s palm rests protectively over the scar, it's slowly fading white ridges echoing with long-forgotten pain. “Do you think I don’t want you? Is that why you always act this way?” 

 

My heart nearly stops at her words, shooting up into my throat as I do my best to find my words again. 

 

“I… It’s a combination of things,” I finally manage, feeling my heart start to race again at the way she slowly moves her hands up under my breasts, seeming to chart my skin as though she were discovering new lands. 

 

“What sort of things?” She asks me softly, the innocence of the question contrasting greatly against the searching way she touches my bare skin. I gasp and barely hold back a groan, staring at the ceiling as I pray to the Drowned God to give me the strength to resist my baser instincts. 

 

“Lots of things,” I say breathlessly, my fingers tensing against my wife’s pale back. I have to stop myself from digging my nails in, not wanting to scare her or harm her in any way. “I… I love you more than I know how to say. It scares me. And with…with everything that’s happened to you, I’m afraid that… I’m afraid that the needs of my flesh are too selfish, too dangerous and frightening to give in to. I… I don’t want to hurt you the way that…”

 

I can’t even say the words aloud. It feels like an insult to the quiet moment we’ve built together, but Sansa doesn’t seem afraid. She looks up at me, her hands moving to trace the line of my waistband over my skin, making me nearly double over as a shock of pleasure shoots from the base of my length to the tip. 

 

“You’d never hurt me, Yara,” she says softly, making me look down at her as she looks up into my eyes with a steady sort of sureness that I’m only used to seeing when we’re in the throne room. “I know that your love for me is pure. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before. You’re so strong-willed and kind and gentle. You’ve said over and over again that we can do things at my pace and this is my pace. I want to do this. I just might have to take it kind of slow in the heat of it all. But I know that you’ll go as slow as I ask you to. Knowing that brings me a peace that no one else has ever given me.” 

 

I’m not sure how to respond to Sansa’s words, but my heart feels full to bursting and all I can do is think about kissing her again. So I do. When our lips meet again, it’s with passion hotter than the sun and need that runs deeper than the deepest oceans. I pull her closer to me as our kiss deepens, feeling the omega moan against my lips, making my entire body shudder with need. As though she were reading my mind, Sansa pulls my trousers down and I kick them off with my boots, grunting with frustration when the leather boots stick to my feet a bit. When they’re finally off, I pull down my small clothes and toss them aside, wrapping my wife in my arms again. I can hardly stand to not touch her, it feels like torture just to know she’s standing there and I’m not touching her. So I let my hands move reverently over her sides, feeling the way her instincts heat her skin like a fire deep inside her bones. 

 

“I love you,” I gasp out between kisses, feeling rather than seeing Sansa take her gown the rest of the way off. I let my hands move up a bit more, holding her heaving ribcage in my hands as I gently guide her back onto the bed. She falls back and I fall with her, exploring her body like it’s a new sea to be charted and mapped out, committed to memory. 

 

I can feel her scars under my calloused hands, feel her heart race as I trail kisses between her breasts. She guides my head with her hand, tugging at my hair as I find the right spots to mark with my mouth. I let my tongue taste the heat of her skin, groaning at the way she shivers beneath me. 

 

It all feels like a haze of delightful bliss, feeling her body writhe and shudder under my touch. When she guides my head to her breast, I decide to take my time without wasting any of it. I stare up into her eyes as I gently take the stiff pink peak into my mouth and suck, the alpha in me growling triumphantly at the way she stares back at me, gasping and letting out a frantic moan of relief. I groan at the sounds she makes, letting my entire body fill with the sounds of her pleasure. Her voice becomes higher, more breathy as I cover her chest and shoulders with my kisses and bites and purpling marks of possession. 

 

But that’s not enough before long. 

 

“Yara,” Sansa moans out as she tugs on my hair, guiding me back up to kiss her. I kiss her with all the love I have in me, hoping that she feels just how much she means to me through the one simple gesture of affection. “Please, alpha, I need you. Please, I’m so empty, please.” The feral look of desire in Sansa’s eyes has me reeling, making me reach down to gently pull off her small clothes before I can think better of it. All I can think about is filling her, satisfying the deep ache I know she must feel deep inside her. 

 

But even in my haste, I can’t help stealing a glance down between her legs, past the soft plain of her belly. The hair I see there is dark and red, much like her hair but even darker. My mouth waters, my tongue aching to taste the sopping wetness I see shimmering between her pussy lips. I can’t help feeling shocked, such crude words are things I never imagined thinking in reference to the woman I love, but they’re the only words I can think of, my mind starting to fade into my more primal instincts. 

 

I reach down and gently test her wetness with my fingers, groaning deeply at the feeling of the beautiful omega shivering with need below me. I kiss her again, gently searching her with my fingers to find the spots she likes. I can’t help it, it’s a force of habit, really. I want to know what makes my wife squirm, what makes her go wild. So far, it’s the sensitive skin beneath her ear beneath my lips that’s gotten the most fervent results, along with whenever my fingers brushed over the stiffened peaks of her breasts or squeezed a handful of the soft flesh in my palms. 

 

Her breathy moans and surprised gasps are enough to drive me completely mad. I find the stiff bud above her entrance to circle it before leaning down to latch onto a span of skin along the column of Sansa’s neck when her head falls against the pillows, her body arching up in search of more stimulation. I growl around my hold on her neck, gently testing the sensitivity of my new lover’s body. The sounds she makes are an intoxicating choir all their own and I listen hard for them, sucking possessively on the gentle hold I have on her, letting the warmth of her skin cover my tongue. 

 

“Gods, Yara!” She yells when I press a bit more purposefully, groaning my own approval as I keep up the testing strokes over Sansa’s throbbing clit. I feel her nails digging into my back, making me growl deeply, my entire body going tight as my shaft throbs. I almost forgot how much I love that feeling, but I’ve never loved it as much as I do when Sansa does it. 

 

“Please, please please!” She moans out with a high pitched lilt to the end of the word, making me touch her a bit harder, stroking a bit faster as I hold her against me, letting go of my hold on her neck to look at her face. She looks up at me, a bit of a confused look on her face before her entire body goes rigid, releasing a scream of relief to the ceiling as she writhes beneath me, arching up to press her naked body to mine. And suddenly I ache to be closer, even as I watch the ecstasy of release pass through her body. 

 

I press myself closer to her, covering her in gentle kisses as she covers my hand in more sweet slickness. 

 

“I love you, so beautiful,” I whisper breathlessly as she starts to come down, my hand still cupped between her legs. She pants and melts beneath me as I move to her lips, drinking from the heat of her mouth before pulling away to look into her eyes. I cup her cheek with my clean hand, staring into the dazed eyes that look back at me. “Are you alright?” I ask gently, stroking along her cheek with my thumb. “Did I hurt you at all?”

 

“N-no,” she says breathlessly, confusion covering her face again as she looks up at me. “What was that?” 

 

“What was what?” I ask her, a bit confused by the question. 

“That end part,” she says a bit less confidently, blushing as her hands rest against my hips. Realization hits me like a boulder falling down a mountainside and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help much. 

 

“An orgasm?” I say questioningly, knowing full well what it was, but wanting to see if she knows what the word means. “They’re like the release from built up tension or something.” But the explanation doesn’t seem to alleviate the other woman’s embarrassment.

 

“I’m gathering that these are a common occurrence,” she says softly and I nod, knowing that if I open my mouth I’ll laugh. Not because of her ignorance on the subject, that’s actually something that I find very endearing and a fun opportunity, but the look on her face is so adorable that I can hardly contain myself. 

 

“Especially if you have a skilled lover,” I tease, getting a breathless laugh in response and a gentle shove. I laugh with her, my heart feeling so light that I hardly notice my own arousal still aching along my shaft until it presses against Sansa’s hip. The laughter dies slowly and we both look at each other for a long moment. Sansa stares up at me, her lips parted slightly in a gasp, my heart hammering in my chest. I swallow hard and start to get up when I feel my wife’s hands move from my back to my head and the back of my neck, grabbing me and pulling me back down for a slow, gentle kiss. I hum against her lips, melting at the searing heat of her affection. 

 

“I want to please you too, my love,” she whispers softly, making me shudder as I try to keep my hips as still as possible. As I open my mouth to argue, nothing comes out except a hoarse moan of surprise as those same fingers gently cup my length, the exploratory touch nearly drawing me over the edge. “Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and have an awesome day!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's pretty vanilla but there are mentions of Sansa's past abuse and her trying to get through it, so if you're a bit sensitive to that stuff, I advise caution.

Sansa’s POV

 

As soon as the word “please” escapes my lips, something changes in Yara as she lays above me, all still muscles and conflicted brown eyes. But when I say that word with all the sincerity and omega pheromones that I can muster, those brown eyes turn even darker, alpha lust clouding the indecision of the gentlewoman who I can’t believe is really naked on top of me right now. That darkness, along with the deep growl that rumbles through my alpha, makes every inch of me tense with need again. 

 

I’ve never felt my instincts cloud my judgment like this before. It feels like I’m barely myself but also fully myself all at once. Like a part of me was missing and now, with Yara naked and pressed as close to me as humanly possible, I’m whole. 

 

Well, almost. 

 

The insistent throb of Yara’s… member? Gods, why is thinking of it like that so strange? Yara’s always had one, it’s part of her anatomy, but for some reason thinking about it drives parts of me wild that I’ve never felt before. I’ve never wanted an alpha before, not the way I want Yara. It’s like she was the spark to light up my insides and turn me into some kind of drooling, knot-crazed omega. It’s a terrifying thought, the idea of having Yara inside me, of letting her use me the way Ramsay did. 

 

But then again, she said that we could go at my pace. Obviously, by Yara’s own actions, I’m learning rather quickly that there’s more to sexual intimacy than just… Sticking it in. The idea is strangely disarming and arousing, but also more terrifying than I’m willing to explore at the moment. Maybe I can use my hand the way she did hers. Maybe I can bring her release that way. 

 

But as I feel her rather large, throbbing length against my palm, I feel doubt creep into my mind. Yara is an alpha with more experience than I’ve ever had or will ever dream of having. I doubt that my hand will satisfy her.

 

But the feeling of something slick slowly drooling onto my hand brings my doubtful thoughts to a halt. I look down, my eyes widening. In the midst of our passionate exploration, I hadn’t had much time to actually look at Yara beyond her high, firm breasts, dusky nipples, and scar laden skin. I admire those parts of my wife now, looking past them once my eyes and heart have had their fill before looking lower. Her length is pressed fairly securely between her body and my hand, the head the only part visible beyond my hold. I gently wrap my fingers around it, my body shivering when the alpha groans and her hips jerk, almost as if her instincts insist that she thrust against something, anything. 

 

Her shaft is hot against my palm, the head leaking clear fluid over the top of my fist as I start a slow, exploratory pumping motion. I can feel all the ridges of her heavily pumping veins, especially the thick one along the bottom of her length. My mouth waters at the feeling, my fingers squeezing a bit tighter as the top of my fist touches the bottom of the head before moving back down and then up again as more of the clear fluid leaks out. 

 

“Gods, Sansa,” Yara growls down at me, her face buried in my hair as I keep up the gentle rhythm, her breath hot against my face and her scent surrounding me completely. I can feel my heat starting to take over again as I imagine where else I could feel this rather large part of the woman I love. 

 

“Does it feel good?” I ask her without thinking, my omega needing to be praised despite my better judgment. 

 

“So good,” she says in a raspy voice, but there’s a shakiness to it that makes me hesitate for a moment, my heart sinking a bit at the tense, needy look on her face. 

 

“What’s wrong?” I ask her shakily, my entire body going tight again. “Did I do something wrong? I-I know that you’ve had much more fun with other omegas and this is probably more boring than a small council meeting -“

 

“Sansa.”

 

The sound of my name stops my flow of rambling nervousness, making me look up into those dark, comforting eyes. I’m struck again by how lucky I am, how much the Gods have blessed me after all the years of torment I’d been put through. Her soft, dark hair hangs around her face like a curtain, sheltering us from the cold winter night. 

 

“Having your skin against mine is more fun than I ever thought I would have in my entire life,” she says in that gentle, understanding voice that makes my heart melt inside my chest as though it were made of ice and Yara’s own heart was a brightly lit hearth. “Your omega call is just… It’s intense.” She laughs softly, the sound filling my body with warmth. 

 

“I’m sorry,” I say gently, my voice sounding so unlike myself that I barely recognize it. 

 

“Don’t be,” Yara says with a smile, cupping my face and stroking my cheek with her thumb, a purr rumbling through my chest in waves as my eyes flutter. Something about the alpha’s touch always sends me reeling, but this is so much more. I know that it’s mostly my heat, but the heat of the alpha’s skin against mine is like some sort of spell, sending my mind to far off places where it’s only her and me, where we can make love and that monster’s face doesn’t come rushing to mind. Somewhere where I don’t feel his hands on me, following the touch of the alpha that I love more than anyone else in the world. 

 

“Are you alright?” She asks me, pulling me from my thoughts as I focus back on her. I blink and nod, swallowing a bit. 

 

“Yes, yes, I… I was just lost in thought,” I tell her gently, my free hand moving to stroke through her hair to move it behind her ear. A purr rumbles out of her and I smile, sad thoughts very suddenly forgotten as I continue a gentle pumping motion, my fist loose. “Is it alright if we just explore like this tonight? I… It’s hard for me to not… To not think of… Well, you know.” 

 

The protective look that fills the alpha’s eyes is intoxicating and terrifying all at once, making my breath catch in my throat. I had never known before now just how much Yara must hate some of the people who’ve hurt me. Just knowing how her uncle hurt her, how he tore her away from Theon and how he took her claim to the throne of the Iron Islands and tossed it into the sea like a stone makes my own blood boil. But I can tell from the fire in my wife’s eyes that my own protective instincts are dwarfed compared to hers. Her arms wrap around me even tighter, the purr that had been moving through her chest turning into a growl. But the sound is cut short, replaced by a look of timid nervousness. 

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get so… Alpha,” she says with an embarrassed chuckle, looking away from me as though I might scold her for reacting with her instinctual need to protect. 

 

“I don’t mind,” I say gently, cupping her face in my hand to make her look at me again. “You’re not exactly a knot head so it doesn’t bother me. You hardly ever act like this.”

 

“You should’ve seen me before,” she says with a small laugh, blushing more. I smile and laugh with her, pulling her down for a kiss because part of me just can’t stand not kissing her again. 

 

“What changed?” I ask her softly, my fingers still wrapped around her. She notices, I know she does, because her hips stir and she lays herself down on top of me, starting a gentle grind to stimulate herself in my grip. My omega nearly keens at the gentleness of how my alpha stills her own need, using my hand for her pleasure in such a small way that I barely notice it when she begins to speak again. 

 

“I had people who were counting on me,” she replies, moving a strand of hair out of my face as she considers her words, speaking freely. “After my father was killed, I realized just how much my people needed me. I knew that I’d rule them someday, like it was part of who I was born to be just as much as my own name. But when I realized that my future was truly at hand, it all sort of hit me. I couldn’t act like an omega crazed warrior with no future worth fighting for. I was a queen, someone whose life wasn’t just mine anymore. Being with you was a bit of a wake-up call as well. You’re so strong and you obviously don’t need anyone to help you be the queen of the world, but you picked me to rule beside you. That’s… Well, let’s just say that being married to you is no small honor.” 

 

I can’t help the blush that covers my cheeks, filling my body with a warmth that only Yara can instill in me. The fact that she seems to truly believe the words she’s speaking is a thrill that I’ve never felt before. It’s one of the first times that someone’s praised me so plainly and I can’t help the purr that fills my chest at her words. 

 

“I feel the same way about being married to you, you know,” I admit softly, playing with the short, soft hairs at the nape of her neck. “You’re such a great warrior and a better leader. I… I was so afraid that you’d be just like every other alpha, especially because of your reputation, but you’re so far removed from anyone else I’ve ever met. You’re so kind and sweet and gentle with me, even after our tense meeting and circumstantial marriage and my coldness towards you. I truly am sorry it’s taken so long for me to be comfortable with you.”

 

“There’s no need to apologize for that,” Yara says calmly, but firmly, smiling as she strokes my cheek with her thumb, making me purr even deeper. I can’t help it, the strong, beautiful woman just seems to pull calm energy into my heart like the moon pulls the waves to the shore. “I will wait for you as long as you need and I will never push you unless you ask me to. And maybe not even then because sometimes we think we’re ready for something when, in reality, we’re not.” 

 

“I”m ready,” I say without thinking. The words seem to catch the alpha off guard, like she hadn’t expected such a firm, steady reply.  “I’m ready to… to give myself to you. I love you more than I thought was possible, Yara. I want… I want to make love with you. I want… I want…” But the words won’t come out. There’s so much that I want with Yara that I hardly have to nerve to say. 

 

“I know, my love, I know,” she says gently, her skin warm and soothing against mine as images fill my head. I know that they’re heat induced imaginings, but I can’t help it. I want her inside me, I want to please her and kiss her and feel her release inside me. I want to feel life blossom inside me, created by our love. The idea startles me, but I can’t push it away, it’s so large and bright in my mind’s eye that I can’t ignore it. No one else has ever made me want that before. I thought I wanted it once, a long time ago, when I thought men were able and women were kind. But now I know better and still I want to have a family with the Ironborn woman above me. I want my children to have her dark eyes and rich laughter and the heart of gold I know beats deep within her.

 

“Sate my heat, alpha,” I practically beg, putting as much omega persuasiveness into the words as I can muster. It seems to work because the shaft pressed against my palm throbs and Yara groans, her entire body going tight as she stares down at me, a look of need in her eyes. 

 

“A-are you sure?” She asks me in a deep tone, her chest starting to heave as she starts grinding her hips again, obviously needing the stimulation. 

 

“I am,” I say gently, keeping my gaze locked with hers as I gently wrap my fingers around her length, feeling how much of her arousal has leaked over the hot skin. “I want you inside me. Make love with me, let me show you how much I love you.” I’m surprised when I see tears in the alpha’s eyes, her love palpable as she holds me closer to her. 

 

“Anything for you, my heart,” she says gently, leaning in to kiss me slow and gentle, almost like she’s cherishing the taste of my lips the way I am of hers. She tastes like heat and salt and love and I can’t get enough. I drink her in like a woman dying of thirst, completely consumed in the kiss, completely hypnotized by her. 

Until I feel the blunt head of her length pressing against my center. I moan brokenly, shaking and tensing at the strange feeling. It’s familiar and foreign all at once and it takes all my willpower to block the past, locking it away deep inside my mind so I can focus on the love that Yara is filling me with, touching me with. She’s nothing like him, nothing like anyone else I’ve ever known or ever loved. She’s everything to me and it terrifies me and sends me reeling all at once. I want to give her everything and want her everything in return. 

 

So I calm myself as best I can, taking comfort in my wife’s perfect scent as she projects soothingly. It’s an intoxicating smell, so rich and strong without being overwhelming. I want more, I want to smell like her for days, want everyone to know that we’ve truly become one. That we love each other beyond anything else and have done our duty to our people with love behind it. 

 

When I feel her start to press in, my body tightens despite myself, blocking her for a moment. She swallows so hard I can see the lump move down her throat, but she stays still and calm, a leader’s restraint filling her eyes as she leans down to press her forehead to mine. 

 

“Everything’s alright, my love,” she whispers softly, leaning down to kiss me before looking into my eyes, her hands moving soothingly up and down my sides in a way that sends shivers of anticipation up my spine. “Just breathe. If it hurts, we can stop. If you feel unsure, we can stop. If anything feels off, all you have to do is tell me and I will stop.” The way she speaks those words helps more deeply than I would’ve thought, my body melting beneath hers as she kisses me again, so slowly that it nearly has me falling asleep. She must feel me relax because she pauses our kiss to lock her eyes with mine again. 

 

“Should I keep going?” She asks me gently. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Yara isn’t going to hurt me. She would never hurt me, not in a million years. 

 

“Just go slow,” I say breathlessly, closing my eyes as the alpha starts to kiss me again, distracting me from the fear that makes my very bones quake beneath my skin. 

 

The stretch is slow but insistent, kicking some of the air from my lungs as I gasp, trying to stay as still as possible. Yara lets out a strangled sound, almost like a groan as she kisses me a bit harder, obviously holding back her more primal instincts as she slowly sinks deeper inside me. 

 

It’s an odd sensation, but the way that Yara moves to kiss my neck, sucking softly when the pressure becomes too much for her is so intense that I can hardly remember to breathe. I let my fingers dig into her back, getting a barely controlled growl in response. The strength I feel beneath the alpha’s skin is both terrifying and arousing. I know some things about alphas, but barely enough to know the true power that my wife is holding back. But when I feel her slip in the rest of the way, hitting all of the deepest parts that I didn’t know I had, I’m made very suddenly aware of everything the warrior is trying to subdue within herself, trying to press away in order to keep me safe and relaxed. 

 

The knowledge of it makes my skin buzz, setting my heart to flutter as my body arches, a sound like I’ve never heard before escaping my lips. It sounds so strangely submissive and feminine to my own ears that I hardly recognize it as my own voice. It seems to tug on the thread that holds back the alpha’s restraint though, because her hips give a tense skip, rocking into me as a deep, beast-like growl rumbles through her body. 

 

I can’t help tilting my neck, one of my legs moving to wrap around her hip and pulling her closer, wishing I had the breath in my lungs to beg for her to move. But the words don’t exist. I can hardly remember my own name as she starts a slow grind with her hips, the hard muscles of her abdomen rubbing against the sensitive bud above my entrance, still aching from my earlier release. But my omega demands more, needs everything the alpha can give me. 

 

“Please,” I finally manage to say, my left hand moving to grab her hair as I expose my neck to her, praying to any gods that will listen that she’ll make me hers, that she’ll want me as badly as I need her. 

 

When I feel her teeth latch onto me, I lose myself, her hips picking up a rhythm that’s slow but firm, rocking moans out of me that I’d have blushed to make at any other time. But with my alpha inside me, her body moving above me as she holds me down against the bed, pinning me between her body and teeth, I can’t find it in myself to care. 

 

I can hardly breathe, let alone speak as Yara lets her teeth bite down a bit harder, not quite a mating bite but enough to have my head spinning as a cry of pleasure escapes me and my fingers dig harder against her back, feeling the muscles bunching and shifting beneath my hold. 

 

“Oh fuck!” I cry, getting a growl of approval from the woman above me as her hips pump a bit faster, as though my own pleasure increases her own. The idea has my insides fluttering, that molten hot ball growing deep inside me again and flowing down my legs, making my entire being go tense. 

 

It doesn’t take much more to bring me to the brink of release, pleas for more spilling from my lips like a prayer. I let my mind go, let the heat-induced imaginings fill my head. Images of letting Yara use my body every night for the rest of my life, of pleasing her, kissing her, touching her, using my mouth for her the way she did for me and her doing so again. Even the idea of baring her pups comes to my mind, the very thought driving me to the edge as I cry out to the ceiling, more slickness flowing out of me as my alpha’s thrusts become uneven and tense. 

 

I notice the shortness of her thrusts as the waves of my own pleasure rush through me and I can’t help the whine that slips out, feeling strangely empty despite the fact that Yara is still inside me. 

 

“Please, Yara, please,” I gasp out, not sure what I’m begging for until I feel something thick and heavy press against my entrance. I moan deeply, my eyes rolling back in my head as I realize why I still feel the ache deep in my gut. “In, please, Yara, please knot me, please. Oh Gods, I need it, Yara, please!” The alpha almost seems helpless to my words because she starts to press forward, panting and growling as she tries to be gentle. But I can feel how hot her skin is, can feel the tightness in her muscles and the throbbing of her length inside me. I know that neither of us will be able to take much more, so I let myself speak, letting things so fowl fall from my lips that I know I’ll be blushing like a maiden when this is all over. 

 

“Please, alpha, give me your knot, need you to come inside me. Need to be tied to you, need to give you an heir, please, Yara. Fill me, please,” I beg as the stretch becomes nearly unbearable. I can feel the thickest part splitting me apart and I’m terrified that it may not even fit, suddenly afraid that I’ll break apart before she finally gets it inside. 

 

But then I feel her teeth break my skin and a flash of white goes over my mind. I can feel her desperation in that moment. I can feel the love and restraint and gentleness of the woman I love. I can see her, the core of herself as she finally claims me, my body opening up for her. I search for her shoulder without much thought, wanting her to see me the way I see her, wanting her to feel me the way I feel her. It’s like a fire, consuming me until I finally find the spot I’m looking for and sink my teeth in deep, getting a cry of pleasure in response as the thickness of her knot nestles deep inside me. 

 

There’s a heavy twitch and then a flood and I’m coming again, crying out to the heavens as I keep my hold on my mate, my hands gripping at her so tight that I can hardly move. I arch and writhe, needing to be as close as I can get, needing to be so close that we share skin. 

 

The heaven of it lasts a long time, pleasure moving between us in a current for what feels like forever and not long enough all at once. 

 

When the pleasure becomes much less overwhelming, I finally feel like a can breathe again, letting go of my hold on Yara as I try to catch my breath. She’s panting heavily above me, pressed as close as she can get to me with her teeth still sunk into my skin. I can’t help smiling as my hands slowly move to her head, just stroking my fingers through her hair to release any rigidness I can still feel in her muscles. 

 

It doesn’t take long for all the tenseness to melt away, a deep purr rumbling deep in my mate’s chest as she gently pulls her teeth away from my neck only to kiss at the mark apologetically. I purr with her, letting my eyes flutter shut as sleepy satisfaction fills my heavy limbs. 

 

“I love you,” I hear her say. I mumble something like “I love you too.” In response before sleep overtakes me, washing over me in waves. 

 

I let myself sink into the depths of Yara’s love and pray that I never come back to the surface. I want to drown in her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and have an awesome day!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this fic and have an awesome day!


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